Love of my heart
by 2goodreasons
Summary: The story of Thorin, a young prince of Erebor, and his rescuer - Lífa, a feisty girl of mysterious origins. Despite their pride and stubbornness leading to frequent conflict, strong feelings develop. But will Thorin's royal responsibilities, and revelations about Lífa's past, keep them apart? Thorin/OC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **

**This story has come about (in a way) as the result of inspiration given by Richard Armitage. I recall reading an interview in which he said that, if he were able to ask Tolkien one question, he would ask him about the love of Thorin's life. RA speculated that Thorin was in love once – perhaps with someone he lost when Smaug took Erebor. I gave it some thought and decided to write their story.**

**I have read The Hobbit a couple of times and, while I enjoy the book, I think even some die hard Tolkien fans would concede that his dwarves (Thorin included) were a touch one-dimensional. This story features my attempt at an earlier version of the more fleshed-out Thorin created by Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens for the movie. **

**This is my first attempt at fan fiction, so I may have got some of the tags wrong, or missed some altogether. For that, I apologise. I welcome questions, reviews and constructive criticism.**

**Finally - Middle Earth and Tolkien's characters belong to his estate. I only claim my original characters.**

* * *

**Chapter One**

Thorin recalled thinking, just hours earlier, that the worst thing about being a Prince of Erebor and eventual heir to the throne, was the pile of administrative tasks his father insisted he complete on a daily basis. He sighed as he looked around the banquet hall and revised his earlier decision. This was definitely worse.

He was a dwarf, and so a feast, with plenty of ale, would normally be something he would wholeheartedly enjoy. But this wasn't just any feast. This was a function organised by his mother, with the express purpose of finding a match for the young prince. Thorin was not seated with his friends or even with his parents. He was seated with the candidates that had been selected as suitable potential wives for a future King.

To their credit, he thought, there were a couple of them who were clearly as reluctant to be there as he was. Directly across from him sat a pretty dwarf with wavy black hair and a braided beard. Thorin couldn't recall the colour of her eyes because she had spent most of the meal gazing away to the left at the table where most of her retinue were seated. Thorin had twice seen her lock gazes with one of the warriors wearing the colours of her family and, though he had no experience of being in love himself, he had no doubt that she was not interested in marrying herself a prince.

The dwarf to Thorin's left was also attractive, and was a princess, which would please his mother. But she was so nervous, either in his presence or in the situation in which she found herself, that she had barely spoken or – indeed - eaten all evening. Most unusual behaviour for a dwarf, and Thorin found it quite off-putting.

And then, at Thorin's right hand sat Brigida, a royal cousin multiple times removed, and hailing from the Iron Hills. She was a good political choice and was Thorin's father's preferred candidate. As he thought this, Thorin glanced up to see Thrain's steely eyes upon him. He knew what his father would be thinking: his son was not making sufficient effort to entertain his guests or to fulfil his duty.

It wasn't that Thorin was wilfully avoiding his responsibilities. He had tried, several times throughout the evening, to engage Brigida in conversation. But she was arrogant and incredibly dull and they had so far not managed to find a single subject in which they had a common interest. He took a substantial gulp of ale and turned to again attempt to engage his cousin in conversation.

* * *

"This is not working" Thrain growled to his wife. "He's not even trying."

Ragna smiled and patted his hand, "Give it time. We can't force him to fall in love, Thrain."

"Who said anything about falling in love?" Thrain asked indignantly. "He needs to marry and produce an heir, to further secure the line of Durin. I'm not particularly interested in whether he loves the girl or not."

"We married for love" Ragna said.

"Well" he said, his expression softening as he turned to look at his wife, "We were lucky."

He looked back at Thorin, who now sat slumped in his chair, elbow on the table with his head resting on his hand.

"Argh!" he exclaimed "Now he actually looks bored!"

"Thrain" Ragna began, "perhaps we are going about this the wrong way".

Her words cut across his objection. "I agree that Thorin must marry well, for the good of the Kingdom, but I wonder - perhaps we have been doing this too often? Between attending these banquets and dances, and seeing to the organisation of various matters in the King's" she paused "Well, while the King has been _busy_, he has not had time for any of the things that he actually enjoys. He is responsible and hard-working, Thrain, but he is also still young."

Thrain had turned back to look at his son, now attempting to engage a loud brunette in conversation.

He gave his wife a wry smile. "Is that the one that drinks too much or the one that gets the hiccups when he talks to her?"

She looked over just in time to see the dwarf in question knock over two pitchers and a large platter of fruit as she pushed back from the table in an attempt to stand.

"Ah, yes, that would be… the drinker. Esja, I believe."

Ragna smiled encouragement at Thorin, as he looked helplessly across at his mother.

"Very well." said Thrain, "I'll talk to him tomorrow."

* * *

Thorin was done. The evening had been long and the company tedious. He couldn't even enjoy the antics of the drunk princess diagonally across from him – it would be considered poor form indeed for the prince to laugh at the embarrassing daughter of one of his grandfather's allies.

He looked longingly across at the table that held his brother and his closest friends. Dwalin held the attention of Balin and Frerin and was clearly nearing the end of an entertaining story. No doubt something embarrassing at my expense, thought Thorin. He'd still have given anything to be sitting at that table.

Hearing musicians begin to tune their instruments towards the other end of the vast room, Thorin was unable to contain an audible groan. Just when he thought the night could not get any worse, it was time for the dancing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

Thorin's head throbbed as he strode through the cool corridors towards the King's chambers. His excessive consumption of ale the night before might have made the ordeal slightly more bearable, but he was sincerely regretting it now.

He reached the door and knocked firmly.

It was opened almost immediately by his grandfather's elderly retainer, Buri.

"Ah, I'm sorry Prince Thorin." He stepped through the door, pulling it to behind him. "Not today, I think". Buri looked away from the expression on the prince's face.

Thorin's heart sank. That made… five. Five days over the last week that the King would not come out of his rooms to deal with the management and organisation of his kingdom. Thorin nodded slowly to Buri and headed back the way he came.

It was getting worse, there was no question. Thorin used to complain to his mother about the boring tasks involved in ruling the kingdom since his father had insisted he get to grips with them by shadowing the King each morning and acting as his assistant. A wave of sadness and worry swept over him as he acknowledged to himself that he would now welcome a return to those dull tasks, if he could only see the King behave as his normal self again.

Thorin had begun to notice changes a while ago, but it was much worse since the gem was found. It was discovered only about a month ago, in the mines beneath the mountain. The King called it the Arkenstone and Thorin had not seen it at all since then, save gripped tightly in his grandfather's hands. It was beautiful, and it seemed to sparkle and glow as if the facets of other gems moved within it. But there was something _wrong_ about it. Thorin had felt that from the start. He recalled his father looking at the stone, cradled in the King's lap, and reaching out to touch it. The King had snarled – actually snarled at his son – and snatched it away.

Thorin worried about his grandfather. Before the discovery of the Arkenstone, he had begun to spend most afternoons in his treasure chambers. Not doing anything useful that Thorin could see when he came across him there, just walking around and staring at the vast stores of gold and precious objects. Occasionally he would reach out to touch something that caught his eye. It made Thorin feel a little ill to think of it.

His grandfather was old but had always been full of energy. Indeed, Thorin had found it near impossible to imagine Thror not being King. The last few months, though, had made Thorin doubt. And the Arkenstone had made things so much worse.

He should, of course, discuss this with his father. He knew his father had made the same observations he had – Thorin had seen the worry and disappointment on Thrain's face often enough to be sure of it. But, for some reason, his father refused to discuss the matter.

There was something wrong with the King. Thorin had no idea what to do about it and he suspected that his father was at a loss too.

Thorin reached his father's study, knocked and entered at Thrain's grunt. He didn't miss the concerned look that passed briefly across his father's face when he saw Thorin enter.

"You are not with the King today then?" he said.

"No, father".

"Ah well." Thorin thought the pause might indicate that today, finally, his father was prepared to talk about what was happening to the King. But it was not to be, "No matter. I wanted to talk with you alone today anyway."

Thorin slumped into a nearby chair. He knew what was coming. His poor performance last night had been noted and he was about to be reprimanded for it.

"How did you enjoy last night's banquet?" his father asked sternly.

"The food was excellent and I am enjoying Ginnar's new brew. I think it a smoother drink than anything he has produced previously. I intend to visit him in the next few days to find out what he is doing differently".

"Thorin. I think you know to what I was referring".

Thorin sighed heavily. "Yes, father." He paused. "It was … tolerable".

To his surprise, his father started to chuckle. "Yes, that's exactly what it looked like to me – as if you were tolerating them. My son, you could not have looked more miserable if you tried. You didn't even laugh when the tipsy one tripped over her chair!"

Thorin was confused by his father's reaction and still felt troubled by the King's non-appearance. He stood up and said indignantly "I hardly thought it appropriate to laugh, father. I feel sure you would not have approved had I done so".

Thrain stopped laughing and nodded. "Yes, you are right. It would not have been appropriate to laugh."

He stood and walked around his desk until he stood before his son. Thorin now stood taller than his father, and Thrain looked up at him.

"I know that what we are asking of you is difficult. We want you to choose someone to spend the rest of your life with. This is an important decision and it will not be an easy one to make."

Thorin bowed his head.

Thrain went on "But, Thorin, we need you to marry and produce an heir. To secure the line of Durin."

Thorin nodded. He knew his duty. He gritted his teeth, then said "I will. I will choose someone." He took a breath. "But, perhaps, there are others? Other suitable dwarf maidens – that I have not yet met?"

Thrain smiled grimly. "I can assure you that if such a maiden existed, your mother would know of her."

He saw the look of disappointment on his son's face and added "Anyway, I think you need some respite from this business for a while".

He patted Thorin on the arm and turned him back towards the door. "I have heard rumours of orcs near our northern borders. There is talk that a group of people from a farming village one or two days ride from here was attacked. I require you to lead a patrol out to look into it. Perhaps a fight or two, and some time away from Erebor, might help you to focus on your duties here."

Thorin tried not to grin – the hunting and killing of orcs were tasks he was much more comfortable with. "Yes, father – I will leave today".

Thrain pushed his son out the door. "Good. Onar is expecting you after the midday meal".

Thorin felt his headache dissipating with each step he took down the hallway.

Thrain shut the door after his son and turned to lean against it. He was struggling to hide from his family the weight of worry that pressed down on him daily. In such a situation, it was preferable to be alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello all. **

**I was not going to do another annoying A/N for a while, but I just wanted to say thank you to those kind folks who have already done a review. I have to say, I feel a bit like a kid at Christmas when I see an email with the subject line [New Review]. So, to reward you - I will post two chapters tonight (barring any technical difficulties). **

**Enjoy. And please review!**

* * *

**Chapter three**

"Hurry up, Frerin, will you?" Thorin was impatient to be going – so much so that he was prepared to accept his brother's assurance that he had permission to ride along.

"How did you talk father and mother into allowing you to come?"

Frerin smirked "I told them I would practice my flute diligently the entire time you were gone, so as not to miss you too much."

Thorin chuckled, despite himself. His younger brother was funny and charming, but any musical talent there was in the family had been bequeathed solely to Thorin and to their sister, Dis. Frerin was terrible at the flute.

Thorin rode to the head of the small company of dwarves and nodded to Balin and Dwalin. "Let's go" he roared.

* * *

Thorin felt his heavy heart lighten the further he rode from the mountain and his troubles. He enjoyed the extra weight of his armour and his right hand rested lightly on the hilt of his beautifully crafted sword. He found himself hoping fervently that the rumours were accurate. The prospect of killing orcs was an excellent one.

He turned to Dwalin, riding beside him, and found his friend already grinning at him. Thorin figured he must have read his mind.

* * *

They made camp just outside the village of Anghaven late afternoon on the second day. Anghaven was surrounded by farmlands, and was one of the many satellite towns and villages that supported the bustling city of Dale, and the dwarf Kingdom of Erebor. The permanent residents of the village numbered about 200 and none were dwarves.

A long-standing agreement existed between the people of Dale and its surrounding areas, and the dwarves of Erebor, that the security of the region was the joint responsibility of men and dwarves. However, Erebor enjoyed great prosperity and the dwarves of the mountain crafted infinitely superior armour and weapons. Over time, the fierce and proud dwarves had taken on the role of protectors of those lands and, in turn, Thror had come to see them as part of his realm. While there had not been cause for large scale battle in many years, regular altercations with orcs and goblins kept the dwarven warriors prepared.

Onar, a seasoned warrior of Thrain's generation, was Thorin's second-in-command. Thorin tasked him with supervising the setting of camp for the dozen dwarves in their company, and called for Balin.

As Balin joined him, Thorin turned towards the village. "I need to speak with these villagers about the incident. You can come with me. Let us see if we can make sense of this."

* * *

Thorin and Balin sat, as delicately as they could, on furniture that appeared to be far too feeble to hold their considerable weight, and listened to the head of the town council.

"It's no rumour, Prince Thorin. It was a family from this very village. They were good people. All four of them killed. I saw the bodies myself, before we buried them."

Alf stopped to take a calming breath, aware that he was expected to give a brief and factual account. The two dwarves seemed uncomfortable in his home and, on consideration, he decided that the feeling was mutual.

"They'd come from a market about two days from here. It's a route we take often." Another pause.

"We have a good healer here – people travel to consult with Svala. It was too late for her, of course, but she examined them - their bodies - when we bought them back. She thought they'd probably only been killed the night before. I guess it was," he swallowed, "luck that we found them so soon after."

"How can you be sure orcs were responsible?" Thorin asked, matter-of-factly.

"I… Well, we…" This part of the story was obviously causing the man some distress and he appeared to struggle to find the right words.

Balin leaned forward and patted Alf's arm. "We will deal with the orcs, laddie. Your village will be safe. But we need to know as much as possible. I know it is hard."

Alf gave Balin a small, grateful smile. "I understand."

He sat up straight in his chair. "We found several signs that pointed to orcs. The way the bodies were maimed. Two had been partially… eaten. We think by the beasts they ride on. It had rained through much of the previous week and there were tracks. Oh, and we found this." He reached beneath the table and retrieved a bundle. He passed it, still wrapped, to Balin.

Thorin frowned down at the sword. "This is definitely an orcish weapon." He turned to the villager. "Tell me about the tracks."

"Well, none of us is accustomed to tracking orcs, but we believe there were probably around ten or twelve of them. Several riding the beasts."

"Wargs" said Thorin. "And how long ago did this happen?"

"It was two days ago, Prince Thorin." Alf lowered his head. "We buried them yesterday."

* * *

After getting directions to the site of the massacre, Thorin and Balin took their leave and walked back to camp.

"I don't like this, Thorin" said Balin. "A dozen is too many - especially if some of them are riding wargs."

Thorin turned to him "Too many for what?"

"We are only twelve. I think we should send for more warriors before we ride out to hunt them."

"These villagers are worried that they'll be attacked any day. You saw the state of that man. And they are not sure of the orc numbers. As he said, they've no experience of tracking them" Thorin said irritably.

"I was not proposing that we leave the villagers to fend for themselves," Balin spoke softly, to try and calm his friend's temper. "A contingent could stay behind, here in the village, and await the reinforcements."

"But if the orcs have left these parts they will be miles away by the time our reinforcements arrive." Thorin was eager for a fight and the prospect of missing the orcs altogether was frustrating.

"I think it is worth being mindful that we have Frerin with us." That was Balin's trump card, and it had the desired effect.

Thorin sighed and then nodded. "I'll send Onar back to Erebor at first light."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

Dwalin stood beside Thorin and watched Onar and three other dwarves ride away.

"So we just sit here and wait?" he asked.

"Well, surely there's no harm in going into the village and meeting the locals" said Balin. "Perhaps sampling the local food and ale?" He rubbed his stomach absently.

Thorin turned away from the village, looking towards the forest in the distance.

"Thorin?" said Frerin. "Are we going into the village?"

Thorin was not good at waiting, and the prospect of sharing what passed for good food, drink and entertainment in one of the villages of men did not excite him. He turned back to his friends.

A smile grew on Dwalin's face. "I know that look" he said.

"So, are we going into the village or not?" asked Frerin.

"It would appear not, laddie" sighed Balin.

* * *

It was Thorin's intention to simply take a closer look at the area where the orcs had attacked, to gather more detailed information about their numbers, and then to return to camp. To that end, only Balin, Dwalin and Frerin accompanied him. Given that they had two days to wait for their reinforcements, they decided to walk and let their ponies rest.

They reached the spot at dusk. There was a clearing in the forest a short distance from the track and Thorin decided they would camp there and examine the site in the morning. He reasoned that there would be less risk of their damaging evidence or obscuring tracks if they worked in the daylight.

They lit a fire and ate well from their supplies. Dwalin and Balin argued vigorously about which of them had killed more orcs.

Not for the first time, Frerin turned to the trees behind him – sensing he was being watched. This time Balin saw him. "What is it laddie? Did you hear something?"

Thorin, who had been gazing into the fire, looked up at Frerin with a questioning expression.

"No, it's nothing." That wasn't true, but Frerin had no intention of telling the others that he felt like he was being watched. They treated him like he was still a child as it was.

Frerin slid down onto his back, covered himself with his cloak and closed his eyes.

That was when the noise began. It sounded to the young dwarf as if an entire army of orcs was crashing through the trees towards them.

As it turned out, it was a pack of six orcs, two of whom were mounted on wargs. The dwarves, who had been ready to sleep, were unprepared. Apart from Thorin, none had their weapons within reach.

Thorin had been on his feet by the time the orcs crashed into the clearing. He pivoted around the first warg and used his momentum to swing his sword at the orc riding the second one. He hit it with the flat of his blade and it flipped backwards off the warg and on to the ground. With the wind knocked out of it, Thorin dispatched it quickly and turned to deal with the warg.

It was already running at him and he stepped backwards quickly and lost his balance. He didn't fall, but was forced to use his sword to stay upright. He raised his other arm and struck the warg across the snout with his vambrace as it reached him. The creature didn't fall, but it crouched back and whined in pain. Thorin stepped up to it and plunged his sword down through its head.

He turned, ready to engage another orc, and froze. On the other side of the clearing, Frerin had a blade pressed to his throat. A short distance away from Frerin, a struggling Balin was pinned to the ground, face down, by a warg. Dwalin, who stood near Thorin, pulled his axe from the body of an orc and looked to Thorin for orders.

Thorin surveyed the rest of the scene. Of the four remaining orcs, only one appeared to be injured. Thorin guessed that Balin must have been engaged with that one when the mounted orc attacked him from behind. Frerin's bow lay in front of him on the ground and it did not appear that he had had time to get off a shot.

No one moved. Two of the orcs briefly screeched to each other in their foul language. It appeared, to Thorin, to be some kind of disagreement. He tried to take advantage of the distraction and stepped towards the nearest orc. Dwalin moved with him.

He was noticed though. "Throw down your weapons, filth" spat the orc whose warg was planted firmly on Balin's back, "or we kill these." He gestured at Frerin and Balin.

Thorin was fairly sure the orcs would kill them if he and Dwalin gave up their arms. But he was certain they would kill Balin and Frerin if they did not.

Thorin was furious with himself. He had been sure that the orcs would have moved on, looking for more innocents to attack and rob. He looked across at his younger brother. From the perspective of his Kingdom, and the survival of the line of Durin, his mistake had the potential to be catastrophic.

"We will not kill you dwarf scum" said the mounted orc. "Not yet."

Thorin did not trust the creature, but he could not take a chance with Frerin's life. He nodded slowly to Dwalin, and they both dropped their weapons to the ground.

The mounted orc, whom Thorin assumed was the leader, began to bark orders at the others. Dwalin swore under his breath as two of the orcs dragged he and Thorin to the fire and tied them up, hands and feet.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" Dwalin muttered to Thorin. "Since when do orcs take prisoners?" He cursed again as he and Thorin were bound together, back to back. One of the orcs remained standing over Thorin and Dwalin - periodically taunting and poking them with its blade.

Frerin and Balin were also bound hand and foot, but were left where they had fallen, on the other side of the clearing. An orc stood by Balin, with the point of his sword at Balin's neck. The last orc finished tying Frerin and gave him a kick. Frerin bit his tongue to avoid crying out.

The leader mounted its warg and turned to look around. It looked at the bound prisoners and their three guards and seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if unsure of the wisdom of leaving them. But, after a pause and one further threat to its underlings, it turned and rode away.

* * *

Frerin felt terrible. His ribs hurt where the stupid orc had kicked him, but he also felt he had let the others down. He should not have gone for his bow. The orcs were already too close for a ranged weapon by the time he realised they were there. Frerin was young and still had muscle and bulk to put on, so he was better with a bow than a sword. But he had made a mistake.

He had been tied up away from the fire, near the tree line, and he was grateful for the shadows and the darkness, which hid his flush of anger and embarrassment.

When the leader had ridden away, the orc guarding Frerin immediately left him and began rummaging through the dwarves' gear.

"Get away from there, you filth" spat Dwalin.

The orc appeared to smile at him, baring irregular, stained fangs, and went back to pulling their belongings from their packs. The orcs began to speak to each other – screeching in their horrible tongue.

Frerin noted that he was the only dwarf without an orc standing guard over him. He could feel that his bonds were badly tied, but the rope was wrapped around multiple times. He struggled for a while, but was unable to free himself before he had rubbed his wrists raw.

Finally, he looked across at his older brother. Thorin had been staring at him, waiting to make eye contact. He shook his head and closed his eyes firmly. Frerin understood. He was not to try anything – not yet anyway. He was to get some sleep.

Easier said than done. But it was now well into the night and Frerin finally allowed his eyes to close. Thorin would have come up with a plan by morning.

It was perhaps a couple of hours before dawn when something woke him. He heard a slight rustle beside him and a gloved hand suddenly covered his mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five**

A voice breathed in Frerin's ear "Silence young dwarf. And do as I say. I will not hurt you. Nod to show me you understand." Frerin nodded and felt the hand slide gently off his face. He tried to turn his head and look at his potential rescuer, but another almost inaudible whisper told him not to move.

He felt pressure on his hands and heard a rough scraping, as the stranger began to saw through his bonds. The stranger swore quietly and bent down to him. "Too loud. I will leave you with the blade. When the time comes, pass it to one of the big dwarves."

The knife was carefully slid up into Frerin's sleeve. He wrapped his fingertips around the base of the hilt. Frerin strained to hear as the stranger slipped back into the trees and he resisted the urge to call out and beg him to return.

Frerin took a deep breath, pressed the sleeve containing the knife firmly against his back and began to roll slowly towards the fire, and his brother.

"What are you doing, scum?" demanded the orc that was on watch.

"I'm cold," said Frerin "I need to get closer to the fire." Clearly the orc did not consider Frerin any kind of threat and, after throwing a stone half-heartedly in his direction, went back to dozing with his back against a rock.

Frerin inched as close as he dared to Thorin and Dwalin. Balin and Dwalin were both asleep – Balin snoring loudly. Thorin was awake and Frerin could see his blue eyes watching him carefully. Frerin opened his mouth to whisper to him, but Thorin shook his head and tilted it in the direction of the orc guard. Frerin nodded.

He rolled over into a sitting position immediately next to, but facing away from, Thorin and pretended to stare gratefully at the fire. He shook his arm until the knife dropped down into his palm, and then stretched out his bound hands as far behind his body as far as he could. Trying not to let the pain show in his face, he gently lowered the knife into Thorin's waiting hand.

Shortly thereafter he heard a familiar scraping sound, and noticed that Dwalin's breathing had changed – he was awake. Frerin began to hum quietly and rock slightly in front of the fire, hoping that the sound and the movement would distract the orc from what Thorin was doing.

Suddenly there was a noise in the trees on the far side of the fire. It sounded like a substantial branch had snapped and, remembering the gloved stranger, Frerin was confident it was not an animal. The guard orc immediately stood and kicked another orc awake.

They appeared to be arguing about which of them should go and investigate the noise. The orc who had been on duty obviously lost. Scowling, it picked up a second weapon and inched into the trees. It could have gone no further than a few steps before there was a twanging noise and a crash, followed by a cry from the orc. As the second orc stood, there was a thump in the trees, and then the only sound that remained was a rhythmic creak, as of something swinging back and forth.

The third, injured, orc was now on its feet and it pushed the second orc towards the trees. The second orc was clearly reluctant and it stood at the edge of the trees, trying to see into the dark, dense forest.

The third orc went and stood beside Thorin and Dwalin, with its sword pointed at Dwalin's throat, but its attention was clearly on the trees. Thorin, taking advantage of the distraction, worked harder at the ropes. Balin had now awoken and was trying to sit up. Dwalin began talking to him and the sound of his voice covered the noise Thorin was making. Frerin, directing his comment to Thorin, said "There's someone out there. He gave me the knife."

As the second orc stepped into the trees there came the unmistakable sound of a sword striking armour – albeit poor quality orc armour. A scuffle was taking place in the trees, just out of sight of the group huddled by the fire. It was over quickly, and the body of the orc was pushed back into the clearing, where it crumpled to the ground.

Thorin had cut through the ropes, and he and Dwalin were now struggling to disentangle themselves. They threw the rope to one side and Dwalin took the knife and cut Balin and Frerin free as Thorin made for the pile the orcs had made of their weapons. Thorin threw Dwalin his weapons and ran at the final orc. It was moving away from where the others had been killed, and had reached the edge of the clearing - its back to the trees. An arm shot out from the trees and grabbed it around the throat. As the point of a sword appeared through the orc's chest, it flailed wildly back with its own weapon and Frerin thought he heard a cry of pain.

As Thorin and Dwalin reached the orc, its body fell face down on the ground at their feet. The stranger stepped forward out of the shadows and the party got their first look at their rescuer.


	6. Chapter 6

**Uh oh - another pesky note from the author... Just wanted to say a big thanks to my reviewers. You are so kind - and you really keep me motivated. I hope you like this chapter. Things are really starting to get underway now. ;-) **

**Please review if you get a chance.**

* * *

**Chapter six**

Frerin's first thought was that he was a dwarf, though a tall, slim one. He stood shorter than Dwalin and Thorin, but they were very tall for dwarves. He supposed it could have been a man, but it was the armour that convinced Frerin he was looking at a dwarf. The stranger wore a helm that covered most of his face, with a guard over the nose. His torso was encased in plate armour and both were clearly dwarven made, though the decorations did not look familiar to Frerin. He wore heavy boots and plain trousers and, strangely, a thick fabric of some kind was wrapped around the lower part of his face and his neck, hiding his beard.

As Frerin assessed the dwarf, he and Balin had been making their way over to him and now their whole group stood in front of the stranger. It was Thorin who spoke first.

"Who are you?"

Balin cringed inwardly at Thorin's lack of gratitude, but the stranger reacted more passionately.

"I'm the one responsible for your rescue – so you might like to start with a thank you." His voice had a strange pitch and the aggressive, gravelly tone sounded affected to Balin. He supposed this was a young dwarf, trying to sound older.

Thorin knew, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, that he should have thanked the stranger first, but he was on edge from the fight and he was still feeling guilty about leading his friends and his brother into danger. His first impulse was to be aggressive, and he was immediately sorry. However, the stranger's reaction to his words had surprised him. He was unaccustomed to being spoken to in that way by another dwarf and he was instantly angry again.

"I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror – Prince of Erebor – and I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to me" Thorin growled.

Dwalin's hand was still tightly clasped on his sword, as was Thorin's, though Balin had taken up a relaxed stance.

Frerin, attempting to diffuse the situation, addressed the stranger: "I'm sorry. He's – he's just surprised. We are very grateful. Thank you."

The strange dwarf turned to Frerin and bowed his head slightly. "You are welcome."

As the stranger turned back to Thorin, Balin noted the way his armour moved – it was clearly not a good fit. Balin suspected the dwarf was trying to look both bigger and older than he actually was.

"This young dwarf reminds you of your manners, _Prince_ Thorin. Do you imagine that, because you will one day be a King, courtesy and duty are beneath you?"

Dwalin growled. Balin and Frerin winced.

It was too much for Thorin to have this upstart question his commitment to his duty. His whole life was about duty. It was worry about his duty, his family and his people that had lately been keeping him from sleeping at night. He was tired, angry, and racked with guilt about putting Frerin and his friends in danger. It was a bad time to goad him.

Before Frerin, standing to his right, was able to raise a hand to stop him, Thorin reached out and gave the stranger a firm push, snarling "How dare you."

The stranger dropped his sword and crumpled, almost comically, to the ground.

Frerin dropped to his knees beside the dwarf and glared up at Thorin. "What are you thinking Thorin? He saved us."

Thorin stared dumbly down at the fallen figure. It suddenly looked smaller and a bit pathetic. He felt shame wash colour over his face.

"I – I only pushed him" he said weakly.

Dwalin came to his leader's defence. "He should no have spoken to Thorin like that. No once he knew who he was. Cheeky little buggar."

Balin had been peering down at the stranger and now walked around to his other side and crouched down.

"What's this?" He touched a dark patch to the side of the dwarf and lifted his hand. "Blood" he said, and he looked up at Thorin.

Thorin felt unable to move. He didn't trust himself to do so. Dwalin took his cue from his leader and stayed where he was, so Balin found himself giving orders.

"Frerin lad, I need some light. Get me a torch from that fire, will you?"

Balin began to unwind the scarf from around the stranger's neck. "We need to get this and his armour off so we can find the source of the bleeding."

As he pulled the scarf away and threw it to one side, Balin's mouth dropped open. Even in the poor light and with the helmet still on, it was obvious that the dwarf did not have a beard. "Ah...," Balin was flustered and confused. He had never before heard of an adult dwarf with no beard.

As Frerin returned with a torch, Balin reached out and gingerly removed the helmet. Frerin gasped. "Durin's beard!" Balin cursed quietly.

Thorin closed his eyes, his heart filling with dread. "Is he – will he be alright?"

It was Balin who was able to answer first. "I... ah... I don't think this is a 'he'."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - First, profound apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. I fell victim to what may well be a common rookie mistake in writing fan fiction - I posted too quickly. I had big problems with Chapter 7, and I ended up having to go back and edit Chapter 6 when it was already posted. Poor form, but there was no way around it. I felt that Thorin was altogether too distanced from the action at the end of 6 and through 7, so I had to change it. The result, I'm afraid, is quite a short Chapter 7, but I will make up for it with a longer Chapter 8 (which will also be posted tonight).**

**So, long story short - if you read Chapter 6 prior to about July 5 - please go back and re-read, as the end of it has changed. Once again, I apologise. I'll try and keep the process much smoother in the future.**

**Please review if you are so inclined.**

* * *

**Chapter seven**

Thorin's breath caught in his throat. "What?"

He stepped closer, pushing Balin and Frerin aside so that he could see the form lying on the ground.

He stared down at the girl and froze – stunned. Looking at her now, in the light from the torch, Thorin could not believe they had ever thought her male. She was lovely. She was indeed beardless and her skin looked soft and pale. Her long hair was a coppery red colour and it fell in soft waves around her shoulders.

Thorin was suddenly overwhelmed by a fierce desire to protect and care for the girl. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the fire. Her body rested against his and her head slumped against his chest. Thorin laid her down gently on the grass beside the fire, and began to unfasten her armour.

Balin and Dwalin looked away, concerned that they were witnessing something in their leader that he may not want them to see. Dwalin frowned slightly, before taking the torch from Frerin and moving around the clearing ensuring that all the orcs were dead. Balin busied himself gathering up those of their belongings the orcs had not ruined.

Frerin moved closer to the fire and quietly watched his brother.

Thorin lifted the girl and pulled the armour away from her torso. His mouth opened slightly as he took in the sight of her body by the fire light. She wore a tightly-laced leather bodice over a soft shirt, and his eyes were drawn to her full breasts as they rose and fell with her irregular breathing.

Thorin felt his heart begin to pound within his chest and his hand automatically reached out to touch her. His rough fingers brushed her soft face, and he gasped as hot bolts of desire shot through him. His hand drifted down to her shoulder.

The wetness of her blood shocked him into action, and he shook his head and focussed himself on his task. He began working at the lace that bound her bodice. He frowned at his shaking hands, unable to understand the intensity of the feelings he was so abruptly experiencing. She was certainly not the first woman he had ever touched, nor was this the worst battle wound he'd ever seen. He was a Prince of Erebor, and a hardened warrior – what was the matter with him?

Frerin was conflicted as he observed his brother. He was pleased that Thorin appeared to regret the way he had treated their rescuer, but he was now more visibly shaken than Frerin had ever seen him before. He frowned as he watched Thorin's hands tremble.

It suddenly occurred to Frerin that he knew why Thorin was so upset. He stepped forward and grasped his shoulder. "Thorin, you know you didn't do this to her when you pushed her? That last orc swung his sword around as she killed him – he must have struck a lucky blow and maybe got her at a join in her armour. I guess she didn't feel it – at first."

Thorin seemed to pull himself out of a trance before slowly looking up at his brother. "I know, Frerin, but it is my responsibility."

Thorin finished undoing the lace and began to remove the girl's shirt. Pulling the fabric away from her skin must have caused her some pain because she suddenly took a ragged breath and opened her eyes. She lay facing Thorin and he watched her slowly focus on him. Her eyes were a beautiful sky blue, and it seemed to him that they sparkled as she recognised him. He was sure her mouth was turning up into a smile, when she hesitated and, quickly raising her hand, slapped him hard across the face.

The sound was loud and it carried across the quiet clearing. The other dwarves flinched. Normally, Dwalin would try to take the hand of anyone who struck Thorin, but some instinct had rooted his feet firmly to the ground on the far side of the clearing.

"What do you think you're doing?" Her voice now was lovely, but filled with icy anger.

Thorin was completely taken aback by her reaction. "I - I'm trying to help you. You're hurt and bleeding and I'm – we're trying to find the wound" he spluttered. Suddenly he felt the return of a more familiar emotion - anger. Anger was an emotion he understood.

She spoke again. "My name is Lífa, and I would thank you to take your filthy hands off me" she spat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter eight**

Had someone asked, Lífa would not have admitted it, but things had not gone according to her plan. She was on her way to resupply at the village of Anghaven when she had seen the small group of dwarves. On a whim, she had decided to follow them. Well, perhaps not just a whim. There was something about the tall one in front – the way he held himself, the way the others followed him, his voice. She couldn't decide if he seemed familiar or just intriguing. Not that it mattered - she knew she could follow them undetected, so there would be no need to explain her motives to anyone.

Lífa was not afraid for her safety. She was well able to take care of herself and, in any case, they were clearly prosperous dwarves of Erebor. They were likely honourable and would not hurt her. As she tracked them, Lífa enjoyed listening to their idle chat. She admitted to herself that she had been lonely and longing for the company of others.

As she watched them from the trees though, Lífa heard something that, with all their arguing and eating, they did not. She sensed, too, that something was wrong. She had time to move away and climb into the safety of a tree before the group were attacked. She watched the leader of the dwarves knock an orc from the back of a warg and turn and kill him in one smooth movement. He dispatched the warg next. Lífa smiled. He was impressive.

But the group were overpowered and, up her tree, she was unsure what to do next. What if the orcs intended to kill the dwarves? She should jump down and intervene immediately. But it seemed that something else was happening. Having secured their prisoners, one of the orcs rode away on a warg – no doubt to fetch more disgusting orcs, she supposed.

In the darkness, she crept forward and watched the remaining orcs, getting a closer look at how each of the dwarves had been restrained. She retreated further into the trees to come up with a plan and to prepare.

* * *

Lífa had noticed that the young dwarf was very close to the edge of the trees. A couple of hours before dawn, when the orcs were either dozing or completely asleep, she removed her plate armour and crawled on her belly towards him.

He didn't cry out and he seemed to understand what she wanted him to do. As she moved away and replaced her armour, she saw him roll towards the big dwarves. The leader, she could see, was watching closely.

Lífa moved to the trees on the other side of the clearing, where she had laid the snare. Her equipment was not really suitable for catching something as large as an orc, but she had no doubt that her rope would hold. It didn't need to hold for long.

After checking that the trap was ready, she armed herself, hid behind the tree and snapped a large stick across her leg. The noise was loud and the orcs reacted immediately. She rustled some low branches to get the orc to come in the correct direction. It obligingly walked right into the snare, which tightened around its leg and flipped it upside down. She had intended to leave it hanging there while she dealt with the others, but she had underestimated its weight. It was hanging very close to the ground and might be able to get purchase to free itself. The orc swung back and forth in front of her. She timed the swings and, as it moved towards her, she ran it through with her sword.

Lífa assumed the second orc would follow quickly, so she waited behind one of the first line of trees, directly in front of the other orc's body. The orc took its time coming into the trees, but it was a simple matter to kill it once it stepped out of the clearing. It was distracted by the sight of the first orc dangling upside down and its eyes had not adjusted to the dark. While Lífa was more accustomed to the poor light, her first blow still fell on its armour. Fortunately, the orc was not able to recover in time to defend itself from her second thrust, which was more strategically placed.

She pushed the dead orc off her sword, placing her boot onto its belly and kicked it backwards into the clearing. She saw that the two large dwarves were now unguarded and were working hard to free themselves as the last orc backed away towards the far side of the clearing.

Her pride getting the better of her, Lífa determined that the large dwarves would not steal the kill from her. She moved quickly and quietly around the tree line, and silently approached the last orc.

The dwarves freed and armed themselves and the big ones came charging towards the remaining orc. While it was distracted, she reached forward and, grabbing it around the neck, stabbed it viciously through its back.

But she had been careless. In her haste and her desire to ensure that it was she who killed it, she had not paid attention to its weapon. She felt a sharp pain at her shoulder and cried out. She pulled her sword from the orc's body and, as it dropped to the ground, found herself face to face with the leader of the group of dwarves.

The pain from her wound seemed to diminish as she stared up at him. She raised her eyebrows. He was even more attractive up close. He was tall and muscular and, as she looked at him his blue eyes sparkled with – anger? Surely not.

"Who are you?" His voice was glorious – rich and deep and resonant and compelling. But now she was angry too, and it had no effect on her. Where was his gratitude? She had saved him – all of them – and been hurt in the process, and he could not thank her?

"I'm the one responsible for your rescue – so you might like to start with a thank you" she retorted.

The expression on his face changed – seemed to soften – for a moment. Then he appeared to draw himself up even taller as he said "I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror – Prince of Erebor – and I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to me."

That explained it. This was the great Prince Thorin, who would one day be King under the Mountain. Was this kind of self-importance universal to all dwarven Kings and their heirs, she wondered. Were they all so arrogant and selfish that they could forget how to be civil and kind?

At that point, the young dwarf spoke: "I'm sorry. He's – he's just surprised. We are very grateful. Thank you."

Lífa turned to him and inclined her head: "You are welcome." At least he has some manners, she thought.

As she turned back to Thorin, the throbbing pain in her shoulder had become intense. "This young dwarf reminds you of your manners, _Prince_ Thorin. Do you imagine that, because you will one day be a King, courtesy and duty are beneath you?"

She saw the other dwarves' reaction to her words and realised she had probably gone too far. It was not fair to subject this royal dwarf to the anger and hostility she felt for another. Lífa took a breath to apologise. And then he pushed her – hard - and the world went black.

* * *

When Lífa came to, it took her some time to orient herself. When she was able to focus, her vision was filled with Thorin's handsome face and she tried to focus on his striking blue eyes.

She began to feel again. Heat from the fire. Pain from her wound. And - someone was taking her clothes off. Thorin was removing her shirt! His hands were warm and rough. Her response to his touch made her angry and confused. And ashamed - if Thorin removed her shirt, he would see.

Lífa stopped him the only way she could think to – she slapped him hard across the face. It was harder than she had meant to hit him but, she thought petulantly, he did push her to the ground.

Lífa tried to hold her voice steady as she said: "What do you think you're doing?"

She had hurt him. He was shocked – she could see that in his eyes. "I - I'm trying to help you. You're wounded and bleeding and I'm – we're trying to find the wound". He sounded almost vulnerable.

Lífa was already sorry and she tried to think of how she could fix it but, as she stared up at him, she watched as the changing emotions altered his face. The angry mask was back now, and her own anger rose to meet it.

She tried for some dignity. "My name is Lífa, and I would thank you to take your filthy hands off me."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: A bit of a wait for this chapter - again. Apologies - family commitments took me out of town for a few days. I intend to post a couple of chapters today.**

**Thank you to all my reviewers. Please do take the time to review - it really is encouraging.**

* * *

**Chapter nine**

Frerin wasn't entirely sure what had happened. He had been watching Thorin and the girl, Lífa, but more seemed to have taken place than he had witnessed. He was confused, but he was also embarrassed, and he felt obligated to try and recover the situation. He moved to stand next to Thorin.

"It is an honour to meet you, Lífa. I am Prince Frerin of Erebor. This, ah, as you will remember, is Prince Thorin. Over here is Balin, and this is Dwalin." The other dwarves bowed in Lífa's direction, but did not come any closer.

Frerin was not sure if Lífa had seen them, as she was still staring daggers at Thorin. Who was looking at her with a similar expression on his face.

Frerin looked down at the unlaced shirt. He coughed and then tapped Thorin on the shoulder. "Her wound?"

This appeared to snap both of them out of it. The girl looked away from Thorin and up at Frerin. He thought he saw pain and weariness in her eyes.

Thorin was still furious and his face was still stinging from her blow. As a consequence, his words came out more harshly than they were intended. "Well? Are you going to let me help you or not?" he demanded.

Lífa tried to lift her head to get a look at her injury, but made a small noise of pain and dropped her head back down.

Thorin felt the same strange emotions threaten to overcome him again. He bent down to her. "Please, let me help you" he said, in a gentle voice that Frerin had thought he reserved only for their little sister, Dis.

Lífa seemed to think about it for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, I want that young dwarf – I want Prince Frerin to help me." She looked up at Frerin. "Please."

Thorin stood and turned to face Frerin. His face was like thunder and Frerin had to work not to take a step back.

"Fine" said Thorin loudly, and he stalked off to the other side of the clearing, where he was soon joined by Dwalin and Balin.

"Frerin," said Lífa, "I don't think I can do this by myself. I feel that I can trust you." She was in pain – he could see it in her face. "Will you help me?"

At Lífa's instruction, Frerin gathered up water, clean cloths (well, the cleanest cloths they had) and a fresh shirt from Lífa's pack, which she had him fetch from a nearby tree. All the while he could feel Thorin's angry stare at his back. Dwalin and Balin were trying to distract him by discussing the prospect of the return of the mounted orc, but Thorin was not to be engaged.

As he sat down beside her, Frerin began to feel a little ill. Lífa looked up at him "I'm sorry to put you in this position, Prince Frerin, but I didn't want… I didn't want Prince Thorin to see..." she trailed off.

Frerin nodded slowly.

"Please try not to react," she added cryptically.

Lífa herself pulled away the bloodied shirt and Frerin felt himself pale at the sight of so much blood. They worked together to wash it away, and it quickly became obvious that Lífa had been stabbed in the shoulder. Frerin found himself absorbed in the job so that he forgot to feel ill. He concentrated on cleaning the wound, which he thought looked alright, and then wrapped several long, clean pieces of fabric around it.

Lífa was silent through most of the process but at one point when he was nearly finished cleaning the wound, she had passed out again. He tried not to panic but, ensuring his body was between her and the other dwarves, dabbed a cold cloth on her face until she woke again. When she whispered an apology it was almost too much for him. "Why are you apologising?" he whispered back – loudly. "You got this wound rescuing us. Do not apologise, please." She smiled at him again and he was struck by how pretty she was.

Once the wound was dressed as best Frerin could, they attempted to clean off the rest of the blood. As he wiped a wet cloth across her front, Frerin felt the scars before he saw them. He bent down to look more closely and gasped quietly. Lífa had three thick, roughly parallel scars running diagonally across her abdomen - from under her breast, and down across her ribs and stomach to her hip - and a multitude of smaller ones surrounding them.

Frerin's face contorted into a sad frown and he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"It's all right Frerin," Lífa assured him. "It was a long time ago." She smiled sadly at him.

Thorin was trying not to watch. He was torn between fury at his brother for touching Lífa, and worry about whether the girl would be alright. He longed to walk across to her, push Frerin out of the way, and take care of her himself. He had never felt such a strong desire to make a fool of himself and he dug his right palm into the point of his left vambrace to distract himself.

Getting the fresh shirt on Lífa whilst preventing the others from seeing her breasts or scars actually turned out to be the hardest part of the operation. Finally, Lífa was dressed, but Frerin could see that the enormous effort involved had taken its toll.

When she asked for Thorin and the other dwarves, the panic must have shown on his face, because she gave him a small smile and said "I am not dying Frerin, but we do need to discuss our next move."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter ten**

Thorin controlled the urge to run across the clearing to Lífa, and walked over to stand calmly next to her with the rest of the group.

Lífa addressed him. "I believe the orcs will be back. It seemed that they considered you a valuable prize."

Thorin thought it was unlikely that the orcs recognised him, but he could not dispute that the orc was likely to return. She seemed to finally be making an effort to be civil and he was determined to do the same.

He nodded and said "Agreed. We need to get back to Anghaven. We will leave as soon as the sun comes up. It won't be long." Dwalin and Balin nodded agreement.

"Ah, Thorin, I don't think that will work. There's no way Lífa can walk, and we will not be able to carry her so that she is comfortable" said Frerin.

Thorin turned to look at Lífa, something he had been avoiding. Her eyes were becoming unfocussed and she seemed sleepy.

"Well, we're easy targets here" said Dwalin. All the standing about doing nothing was getting to him. "How about Frerin stays to take care of her, and I'll watch out for the two of them. You and Balin could go and fetch the other four back here?"

It was clear from the look on Thorin's face that that was not going to happen.

"We would hide her somewhere while we wait, of course, in case the orcs come back today" Dwalin added feebly.

"I won't leave her" said Thorin quietly.

"Then Frerin and I will go" said Balin. "We'll bring back the others and perhaps a horse and cart from the village."

Thorin sighed. He didn't particularly like that plan either.

Frerin was worried by the fact that Lífa, who had seemed so focussed on making a plan a short time ago, was now having trouble concentrating.

"My lady," he said again, "do you know of a place near here that we might shelter, hidden, while we wait for help?"

Lífa stared at Frerin and smiled. "Yes," she said woozily, "but you shouldn't call me a 'lady'. You don't know who, or what, I actually am." She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes.

Dwalin made a frustrated noise and slapped his hand against the nearest tree. Thorin took Frerin's place beside Lífa. He took a deep breath and said, as patiently as he could, "Tell me where the safe place is."

She immediately turned to him and her eyebrows dipped into a frown so pronounced it was almost comical.

"I don't have to tell you that. Just because you are a Prince, you think you are entitled to know everyone's secrets?" She shut her eyes and tilted her chin up in indignation.

Thorin growled in his throat and opened his mouth to tell her what he thought of her messing them around, when he felt Frerin's hand on his shoulder. To Frerin, it almost seemed like Lífa was drunk. He wondered about fever and infection.

He gently pushed Thorin aside and crouched beside the injured girl. "Lífa," he whispered, "you already know you can trust me to keep your secrets. Tell me where the hiding place is."

He almost laughed as Lífa looked at him very solemnly and then nodded. "There are caves. At the base of those cliffs. Small and cold, but some well hidden. No fire. Too dangerous."

Frerin relayed the information to Dwalin and Thorin, and then he and Balin set out for Anghaven in the dawn light.

Thorin and Dwalin prepared to move.

Lífa refused to be carried, and she would not allow Thorin to help her to stand. "Don't touch me, thank you, your _highness_" she said, sarcastically.

"Oh great – this is no gonna get old quickly" grumbled Dwalin.

As it turned out, Lífa couldn't stand up alone, so she had to accept help from Dwalin. At first it looked as though it would be possible for her to walk some of the way, but after only two or three steps she uttered a quiet "ohhh" and passed out again.

Dwalin, who had been walking immediately behind her, caught her before she hit the ground. He passed Thorin the gear he'd been carrying and swept Lífa up into his arms.

Thorin was about to protest when Dwalin said "Look, it's no as if I want to carry this little ratbag, but if she wakes up and you're carrying her, there'll be hell to pay. Just let me do it." Thorin had to concede the point.

As Dwalin tripped in the dim light, he gripped the girl in his arms more tightly, and Thorin found it took all of his self-control not to reach out and snatch her from him. He felt an ache in his chest when he thought that she would have objected to him holding her in the same way. He didn't recognise the feelings in himself and he felt even more resentful of her for that reason.

They reached the base of the cliffs and Thorin scouted for hiding places, while Dwalin sat and cradled the limp girl in his lap. After a short time, Thorin called out that he had found something, and Dwalin followed the sound of his voice. He walked right past Thorin's hiding place before Thorin called him back.

"Well," said Dwalin "it passed that test."

The cave was small, cramped and cold. They laid a cloak down on the floor and then used another one to cover the still-unconscious Lífa. Thorin sat next to her, and Dwalin all but blocked off the entrance as he sat guard.

They ate and had some water. It was early morning, but it was overcast and there was no warmth from the sun. Lífa coughed, winced at the pain and opened her eyes. She was facing away from Thorin, towards the cave wall, but she seemed almost to see someone there as she said, "Cold. It's so c-cold." She closed her eyes again, but Thorin could hear her teeth chattering.

He unfastened and removed his armour and lay down at Lífa's back, shaping his body so that he fit behind her. He reached his arm around and threw his own, fur-lined cloak over both of them. His arm had come to rest over her waist and he could feel her body still shaking with cold. Thorin gently pulled her into him and the additional warmth seemed to have an almost immediate effect. She stopped shaking after a few minutes and her breathing became regular. She had fallen asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter eleven**

Thorin dozed periodically, but he didn't sleep. His face rested on Lífa's soft hair, which smelt of grass and sunshine. He sighed deeply. His arm was wrapped around her middle and he concentrated on resisting the urge to move the hand that rested on her waist. Thorin silently chided himself for the less than appropriate thoughts he was having about the injured girl pressed against him. He tried to focus on the temperature, rather than the shape, of her body.

Lífa was getting warmer and warmer and he began to worry that she could overheat. Reluctantly, he slid his arm from around her waist and moved his body away from hers. He pushed himself into a sitting position close to her, leaving his cloak over both of them.

Thorin was now incredibly uncomfortable, but he passed the time watching the unconscious girl by what little daylight got past Dwalin's bulky frame. He was intrigued by what she had said to Frerin: "You don't know who or what I actually am." She was quite tall for a dwarf, he thought, but very short for a human. She did not have pointed ears like a hobbit or an elf. She was slim for a dwarf, but stocky for a human. She had no beard, and her hands and feet were small, but she had dwarven weapons and armour, which she knew how to use.

He had wrapped the cloak around her so that only her head was uncovered, but she still faced away from him. He leaned over to look at her and noticed that a lock of her hair had fallen over her face. He smiled as her nose twitched in irritation. Ironically, given their recent close proximity, he was a little nervous about touching her. It was possible that she would wake and be angry that he had done so. But he reached out and took the lock of hair between his finger and thumb. Her hair was a beautiful coppery red colour, and it felt soft between his fingers. He gently pushed the hair behind her ear. She sighed softly in her sleep, and her mouth turned up into a little smile.

Thorin's heart filled with tenderness again. At that moment, he felt he would have done anything for her. He was beginning to understand why a number of the warriors and craftsmen of Erebor did not marry – it was hard to imagine concentrating on anything else while being assailed by feelings like this.

* * *

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the clouds cleared and it shone down on their hiding spot. Dwalin got to his feet, cursing and complaining, and Thorin crawled outside to join him. They struggled to completely unfold their bodies after having spent the previous few hours in such cramped positions.

Thorin gently lifted Lífa outside and into the sunshine. He was pleased when she regained consciousness, but it was only brief. She took some water from Dwalin and, leaning on his shoulder, slowly dropped into his lap, unconscious again. This made Dwalin uncomfortable enough, but with Thorin glaring at him sideways, he felt like pushing her off onto the ground.

They were both immensely relieved when, in the late afternoon, Balin and Frerin rode with up the other dwarves, Thorin and Dwalin's ponies, and a couple of villagers travelling in a horse-drawn cart. Lífa was placed in the back of the cart and transported back to the village. Thorin was grateful that practical Balin had been the one to organise the operation. They got back to Anghaven before nightfall.

* * *

Lífa was taken to the home of Svala, the healer that Alf had spoken of. She was a tall, slim woman of indeterminate age. Her hair was brown, going grey, but her face was relatively unwrinkled. She busied herself around the unconscious girl: gathering things off shelves; occasionally poking or prodding at her patient; mixing medicines, and trying to get Lífa to take water. It seemed to Thorin as if hours had passed before she acknowledged him.

"Well dwarf, how came she by this wound?"

Thorin told her as much as he knew. She was clearly concerned that the source of the wound was an orcish blade. She muttered something about 'filthy creatures', and then went over to more thoroughly inspect and clean Lífa's shoulder.

This time Thorin came closer to watch. He was not able to prevent himself from gasping when he saw the wound. It was swollen, red and angry.

He forced himself to ask the question. "Can you make her – can you fix her?" It came out as a cry. He hadn't intended that, but the healer turned and for the first time seemed to actually see him.

Svala turned kind brown eyes on him, tilting her head slightly as she considered her visitor. She reached out and patted his hand – clenched in a fist – and said kindly "I believe so. We will see what spirit she has, but I believe she will recover."

* * *

After that, Svala was almost chatty with Thorin – acknowledging him most times he came to her home, and even answering some of his questions. Frerin had also been to visit and she appeared to be as charmed by him as were most people he met.

Less than two days after Lífa had been bought to the village, a group of orcs returned to the forest. They ran directly into one of Thorin's patrols, who dispatched them efficiently.

"Eight of them, my lord. Three wargs. We sustained no injuries." Onar was relaxed as he recounted the fight.

Thorin smiled, though he was bitterly disappointed to have missed out on the battle. "You did well. Now we can ride for home."

* * *

But Thorin did not ride for home. He sent all but Dwalin, Balin, Frerin and two other soldiers back to Erebor, but Thorin told himself he could not leave until he was assured of the complete recovery of their rescuer.

Thorin and Frerin had fallen into a routine where one brother would watch over Lífa while the other slept. Frerin noticed that Thorin did not seem to sleep much.

On the fifth day, and after watching Svala force various remedies and potions down the girl's throat, Thorin was relieved to see Lífa open her eyes.

Svala was immediately at her side. She explained what had happened to Lífa, how the dwarves had bought her to the village, how she had been ministering to her, and what remedies and techniques she had used.

It seemed to Thorin to be a lot of information to expect Lífa to take in, but he noticed that the time Svala took to impart all of that news allowed Lífa to slowly come around, and orient herself. By the time Svala was finished - more talking than she had done in the entire five days that Thorin had been in and out of her home - Lífa looked calm.

She had not seen Thorin, standing back in the shadows, and he allowed himself to believe that her first words were about him.

"Where are the dwarves?" Lífa asked the healer, in a hoarse voice.

"Everywhere!" said Svala, rolling her eyes. Ignoring Thorin's presence she leaned in to Lífa. "They have nearly drunk the village dry of ale and as for what they eat…" She shook her head.

"Thank you for caring for me" Lífa said, with a weak smile. Svala patted her gently on her good arm, and bustled towards the door. "I'll get you something nice to eat" she called over her shoulder.

"Wait" called Lífa. She cleared her throat. "I was wondering…." She faltered.

"Oh, he's right here" said Svala, with a wink. She pushed Thorin forward, into the light from the fire, as she left.

"Thorin?" Lífa asked. She was trying to lift her head, but it was still a considerable effort. He crossed the floor to her bed in moments.

"I'm here."

They stared at each other, various emotions competing for dominance.

Thorin longed to reach out and touch her. To sit beside her and gather her into his arms. His body trembled with the effort it took to stop from embracing her.

Lífa was exhausted, but she had pulled herself from her dark, groggy sleep to check that Thorin was there. Now that she had seen him, watching over her, she was overcome again.

Thorin stepped closer. He wanted to do away with the tension between them, for good. He knelt next to the bed and looked down into Lífa's face, preparing to speak.

She was asleep. Her eyes were closed and the little frown lines between her eyebrows had relaxed and disappeared. She had a small smile on her face. She looked peaceful and, Thorin told himself, she looked healthier. He quickly leaned in and kissed her forehead, before retreating to the door.

When Svala returned, Thorin left, to tell the others of Lífa's recovery.

* * *

**A/N: Please review, if you are able. More reviews = more motivation, I have found. ;-)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter twelve**

Thorin slept well that night and he went to visit Lífa the following morning. He found that Svala had moved her into the inner room. By the sound of it, Lífa was having a bath. Thorin stayed in the main room to wait, but he could not help overhearing their conversation through the partly open door.

"I recognised the scent, though I haven't seen the plant itself for many years." Lífa was saying. "My mother was a healer" she added.

Svala's reply was drowned out by splashing, as Lífa moved in the tub.

"Oh, many days ride from here – towards the Iron Hills. It was a tiny village really. Smaller than Anghaven. It was home then, but I could not go back now."

Svala did not oblige Thorin by asking the question that was on his mind.

"Time to get out, before the water gets cold."

Thorin heard Lífa step out of the tub. Suddenly Svala sucked in her breath and cried "Nienna, girl! What happened to you?"

Thorin had to use every ounce of self-control he possessed to resist bursting into the room to look. He stood as close to the doorway as he could whilst remaining unseen.

There was a pause and then Svala said softly "Sit down here and I'll brush your hair. You don't have to tell me." Chairs scraped across the floor and then there were a few moments of silence.

"Goblins" said Lífa, in a voice Thorin had to strain to hear. "I had not been travelling on my own for very long and I made a mistake. It was a stupid place to make camp, and it was even more stupid to light a fire."

She sighed. "There were about a dozen of them, I think. I killed at least one, but there were too many. I think they intended to take me to someone. Someone important. Most of the time I couldn't understand them. But, they wanted to - _play_ with me first."

Thorin's jaw was clenched so hard that his teeth creaked. His rage was like a living thing – wrapping around him, suffocating him. He shook with fury.

She spoke very slowly. "They took me to a cave and they... tortured me. You would think that the pain was the worst thing but, actually, it was their laughter. They were laughing the whole time – this horrible, screeching cackle. I still have nightmares." Her voice trailed off.

Svala said something in a low, soothing tone.

"I blacked out after a while – thank Estë. When I came to, it was daylight outside and none of them had stayed awake to guard me. Perhaps they'd thought I was dead."

"I crawled out of the cave and into the sunlight. I could walk, for a while. I was afraid to stop. Finally, I fell."

"I woke up days later, in the home of the wizard, Radagast. Apparently some of his animals had led him to me. I stayed with him in Greenwood until I was healed. He taught me something of the healing arts."

Lífa went on. "He was a much more patient teacher than my Gram. She had tried to teach me, but she said I was too wild. Stubborn and loud and always getting into fights. She said it was my father coming out in me. But there must have been something of my mother in me, I think. Sometimes, when Gram looked at me, it was as if she was looking right through me, at someone else. My mother, I think." Thorin could hear the sadness and longing in Lífa's voice.

"My mother died when I was born. It was a difficult birth. I think because I'm – because of what I am. Gram never said it, but I sometimes wonder if she blamed me."

Svala spoke so softly in reply that Thorin could not hear her.

Lífa sniffed. "My mother lived long enough to tell me that she loved me, and to give me my name."

Thorin realised that Lífa had begun to cry and he felt shame at hearing the story without her permission. He began to move towards the front door.

"I don't know why I'm crying – I didn't know her. I only know because Gram told me."

"You do know her. You know her in your heart" Svala said gently.

The chair scraped the floor again as Lífa stood up. Thorin hastily backed towards the door.

"Well now," said Svala, "you look lovely. Can't say the same for those other dwarves. Except, perhaps, the tall, handsome one."

She paused. "He came to check on you often. He sat with you for hours. I believe he is fond of you."

Lífa made an unladylike snorting sound. "Oh, he's far too important and – royal – to be fond of the likes of me." Her voice was sarcastic, but Thorin thought he heard sadness too. "He's a prince of Erebor and I'm… I am no one. He can do a lot better than me."

Thorin opened the door and slipped out. He was no longer in a visiting mood. His focus over the last few days had been almost solely on Lífa, but her story had made him feel sad, and her final comments had reminded him of his responsibilities, and worries, at home.

* * *

There was never a question in Thorin's mind that Lífa would return to Erebor with them, so it came as a shock to him when she announced that she intended to stay in the village.

"I like it here. The people are nice, and Svala is teaching me the healing arts."

"But..." Thorin's mind raced. He couldn't think of a single reason to ask her to accompany him back to Erebor that would not give away his feelings. In the end, he fell back on what he knew – giving orders.

"You will accompany us back to Erebor to assist us in reporting to my father and the King about the skirmishes with the orcs" he stated.

"Are you – are you _ordering_ me to come with you?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing and her voice dripping with fury.

"Yes" said Thorin, between gritted teeth.

"Well, you might be _a _Prince, but you are not _my_ Prince."

Thorin did not miss the emphasis.

"When the King is finished with you, you may return to Anghaven if you wish" snapped Thorin.

He turned and strode away. He put some distance between himself and the girl before he stopped. He was breathing heavily and his fists were clenched in anger. Why did this always happen? It seemed that they could only get along well if she was asleep or barely conscious.

* * *

Honestly, Lífa was surprised that Thorin had expected her to go to Erebor. She had assumed, rather unhappily, that the dwarves would soon leave and that she was unlikely to see him again. But now – now she had absolutely no intention of going back to Erebor with Thorin and the other dwarves. She told herself that she would have gone, had he asked her nicely, but it was out of the question now.

She was aggressively stripping leaves from some herbs at Svala's table when Frerin walked in.

"Lífa!" he said, moving towards her with a bounce in his step. "I hear that you are coming back to Erebor." He spoke right over her denials. "You have not been before, I think? Erebor is beautiful. And you will enjoy Dale – there is so much happening. And you will meet our little sister, Dis. She is very bossy, but she loves Thorin. She is the only dwarf in the Kingdom that is allowed to pull his braids!" As Frerin chuckled at some amusing memory, Lífa's heart softened.

She liked Frerin very much. He was sweet and funny. During the nearly two weeks they had been in the village she had spent only a limited amount of time with Balin and Dwalin, but she liked them both. Balin was kind and knew many interesting stories. And Dwalin was growing on her. He was rude and abrupt and he knew numerous colourful curses. She enjoyed their company and she would be lying if she told herself she wouldn't miss them terribly when they were gone.

And then there was Thorin. Mostly, she found Thorin confusing and infuriating. One moment he was kind to her, and then the next he would be ordering her around, or telling her off. He was a pain, actually. But he was also very handsome, and she could not deny that she was attracted to him. And there was something else. He seemed – troubled. It was hard to imagine what a privileged young prince would have to worry about, but Lífa was confident in her impression of his anxiety.

Svala said he had sat with her for hours each day when she was in and out of consciousness. That was an indication of some compassion towards her, surely? She wished she could remember it.

"Yes, Frerin" she said "I'm just packing now."

* * *

**A/N: And now - to Erebor! Finally, huh? **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Welcome to Erebor! Finally we have arrived, and this is a long chapter - to celebrate.**

* * *

**Chapter thirteen**

The return trip was uneventful. The dwarves were pleased to be going home, and they sang for much of the journey. Not all of the songs were entirely appropriate. Thorin had cut them off at the beginning of one song, which made Lífa desperate to hear the end of it. But she learned several new slang and curse words throughout the journey which she looked forward to using.

She was entranced by Dale. She had never seen such a beautiful, tidy, colourful city in all her travels. It was bustling, but friendly. She feared she must look like a terribly simple country bumpkin, but she could not help but gaze – sometimes open-mouthed - at such a display of abundance and comfort. There was so much to look at she could have spent days there – walking and staring. But Thorin insisted on a brisk pace.

Lífa was so busy looking over her shoulder at the city of Dale that she came upon the gates to the Kingdom of Erebor unawares. She realised that the rest of the group had stopped, so she reined in her pony and turned around.

If Dale was beautiful, the entrance to Erebor was awe-inspiring.

Thorin had stopped his pony and turned around to watch her. He was gratified by her reaction. She laughed with pleasure.

"Oh Thorin" she said, forgetting to be hostile, "it is wonderful."

"You are just looking at the gates," he said "come, and let me show you inside."

* * *

Lífa's excitement at finding herself in Erebor was tempered by nervousness about reporting to the King on the incident with the orcs. For that reason, she was pleased when Thorin came to escort her to the meeting the morning after her arrival. At least she would be able to get it out of the way. Her anxiety must have been evident, because Thorin quickly said "You will not be reporting to the King. He is unwell at present. You will speak with my father, Thrain, about the attack."

They walked in silence the rest of the way to Thrain's study, where Thorin ushered her in ahead of him.

Thrain was a very imposing dwarf. While not as tall as his son, he was nearly twice as wide, and his face sported a number of battle-scars. He rose from his desk when she entered the room, and bid her and Thorin sit with him in armchairs before the fire.

Thorin began the narrative without prompting from his father. Lífa found herself a little surprised that he did not attempt to disguise or diminish his own errors in the lead up to the dwarves' capture. On the contrary, he made it clear that their predicament had been his responsibility alone, and he apologised to his father for endangering Frerin. While Thrain only nodded absently, Lífa was impressed with Thorin's integrity and, despite herself, her admiration for him deepened.

Thorin stopped at the point of the dwarves capture and gestured for Lífa to continue. She gave a brief account of her actions in rescuing the dwarves, and she was relieved that both Thrain and Thorin appeared to accept that it was simply good fortune and the sounds of battle that had led her to their camp in the clearing.

Thorin began speaking again, to report on Lífa's injury, their time in Anghaven, and their return to Erebor.

Lífa, who had been keeping her eyes lowered, in both deference and apprehension, finally looked up to stare openly at Thorin's father. Thrain was gazing into the fire, a forlorn look on his face.

Thorin cleared his throat, and then asked if there was anything further Thrain required of their guest. The word appeared to snap Thrain out of his trance and he turned toward her and snatched up her hand.

"Thank you, Lady Lífa, for saving the lives of my beloved sons and their friends." Lífa noted that, while his voice was earnest, his eyes were sad.

"It was an honour to be of service, my Lord" Lífa replied, bowing her head.

Thrain continued, "I am sorry that King Thror was not well enough to meet with you himself. Please stay here in Erebor as long as you wish, but at least remain long enough to meet with the King, when he is better, so that he may also personally give you his thanks."

She looked up to see that Thrain had again turned to the fire. He still held her hand, and he squeezed it uncomfortably tightly as he murmured, "I am afraid I do not know when that will be."

Thrain dropped Lífa's hand as suddenly as he had seized it, and he let out a great rattling sigh that seemed to shake his chest.

Thorin quickly stood and dismissed himself, before putting his hand out for Lífa's, to lead her from Thrain's study.

It seemed to Lífa that Thorin was about to speak on a couple of occasions on their way back to her room but, each time she turned to listen to him, he shut his mouth firmly and frowned into the distance.

Both the meeting with Thrain and her largely silent interactions with Thorin had left Lífa feeling quite cheerless, so she was delighted when Frerin knocked on her door shortly after her return, to take her on an outing to Dale.

* * *

The next few days passed as a blur to Lífa. She was introduced to Thorin's mother, Ragna, who was gracious and polite, if not exactly friendly. She met Princess Dis, who appeared delighted by her and followed her at every opportunity. Lífa found she enjoyed the young dwarf's enthusiasm and energy.

Lífa also finally met King Thror. She had never seen a dwarf with such impressive adornments – his crown, armour and clothing were exceptionally striking and, she could not help but think, quite ostentatious for every day wear. But it was Thror's pale blue eyes that had the greatest impact on Lífa. They darted around wildly and she felt quite uncomfortable in his presence. She assumed it was to do with the fact that he had recently been unwell, but he almost gave an impression of madness, which she found most disconcerting. She found herself thankful that the meeting was necessarily brief, due to the King's other commitments.

* * *

Lífa was bewitched by Erebor. The Kingdom inside the mountain was a magnificent testimony to the hard work and ingenuity of generations of dwarves. The larger chambers such as the great dining hall and the throne room had such high ceilings that Lífa could easily imagine that she was outside. She marvelled at how the rock had been shaped into perfect archways, corridors, alcoves, carvings and statues. The walls and ceilings within the mountain were dotted with gems and threaded with seams of precious metal, which caught and reflected the light from the many torches and lamps. Lífa occasionally caught herself walking around with her mouth hanging open in wonder.

She had worried that she would feel claustrophobic within the confines of the mountain, after living largely outside for many years, but even the hallways and living quarters were spacious. Lífa had been given a room near the accommodations of the royal family, but the rooms were so large and numerous that she had no real idea of where any other individual's chambers actually were – other than Dis', where she was frequently summoned to play or read with the princess.

Thorin and Frerin conducted tours of the mines, foundries, smithies, forges, workshops and all manner of glorious, busy, noisy places within the mountain. It was breathtaking. Lífa had never seen so much wealth and industry in one place in all her life.

There were dwarves everywhere – bustling about their business. They were loud and boisterous for the most part and Lífa initially found it intimidating to walk about on her own. Most of the dwarves stared openly at her if she was not accompanied by Thorin or Frerin, and she hated to be the subject of so much attention.

Sometimes it all became overwhelming. She would put up the hood of her cloak and wander the corridors in anonymity or retreat to her room for some peace. Her favourite diversions, though, were training, riding, and exploring the city of Dale.

Every day she would make for the training areas or the stables to look for Dwalin, Balin or Frerin. While Lífa was proud of her survival and fighting skills, she was not so arrogant as to fail to acknowledge the opportunity now afforded her to be taught by, and to train with, accomplished dwarven warriors.

Frerin was working on improving Lífa's skills with a bow. She particularly enjoyed her sessions with him, as they usually took place outside the mountain. Often they would pack some food, saddle up ponies and ride to a good location to practice. Lífa took great pleasure in the fresh air and sunshine, and in Frerin's cheerful company. It was usually also Frerin that she pressured into accompanying her to Dale, where they would wander the markets and shops, Lífa pointing at and asking about things like an enthusiastic child.

Dwalin was a fierce combatant and he showed Lífa absolutely no mercy when they trained together. His weapon of choice was the axe and, though Lífa tried using axes, she found she was not strong enough to wield them competently. She stuck with her sword and they worked together most days. While Dwalin never wounded Lífa, she seldom left a session with him without sporting some new bruises, aches or pains.

Lífa noticed Thorin's absence. In the two weeks that she had been at Erebor, she had spent time with Thorin on only about half a dozen occasions – mostly when he took her on tours of Erebor. While she acknowledged that her growing feelings of affection towards the Prince were utterly futile, she still allowed herself a little hope.

Each time she arrived at the barracks or the training grounds and Thorin was not there, she would feel a little stab of disappointment. Initially, she would ask after him from time to time but, after she noticed a thoughtful look on Balin's face following one such enquiry, she kept her mouth shut.

Balin would frequently join Lífa and Dwalin. He most often fought with a mace, but he was also good with a sword, which Lífa found very useful. During an early bout Balin observed that, not only was Lífa's armour too big for her, but her sword was too long and possibly also too heavy for her height and build.

As they made their way towards the dining hall for the midday meal, Balin raised the issue with Lífa.

"Where did you get your weapon and armour from, lass? It's lovely stuff, but it seems to me that it's no such a good fit for you."

Lífa gave him a wry smile. "They were gifts from my father. They are beautiful and well-crafted, but they were not crafted for me. I suspect they are pieces that my – that his son had outgrown. I think that sums up my relationship with my father reasonably well, actually." Her cheer sounded forced to Balin.

He resolved to do something about the situation. About more than one situation.

* * *

Balin went to Thorin's study immediately after the meal.

"Thorin, I'd like to discuss something with you. It's about Lífa."

Thorin was instantly attentive. "How is she?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

Thorin longed to see more of Lífa. While there was no question that they frequently disagreed, he could not help but crave her company. The mixed feelings were unsettling, but he enjoyed showing her the wonders of Erebor. She asked insightful questions and it was gratifying to see her delight in and admiration of his home.

But he had an immense amount of work to get through, following his two week absence from Erebor. The King had taken on no administrative tasks in a number of weeks, and Thrain seemed now to work very slowly. Thorin was aware that Lífa was spending a lot of time with his friends and siblings, but he had no time to be sociable. His responsibility was to his people, his father, and the King. On the inside, he felt resentful and jealous, but he would not stoop to show it or take it out on his friend.

Balin gave Thorin a knowing smile. "She is well. She trains every day and even my brother concedes that she is improving."

He paused and watched as Thorin smiled at the thought of Lífa fighting sufficiently well against Dwalin that he would deign to compliment her.

"I think that a bout between Lífa and Dwalin is something that I would like to see" he said, still smiling.

"Well, perhaps that is a good idea" said Balin. He told Thorin about Lífa's over-sized armour and weapon, and answered Thorin's questions about their origins.

As Balin had expected, Thorin made the suggestion. "She should be provided with something more suitable."

He looked at Balin, suddenly showing a glimmer of vulnerability. "Do you think that she would accept such an offering? From me?"

Thorin answered his own question before Balin could do so. "Of course not – she cannot stand me. You and Dwalin and Frerin should give them to her. It sounds like she is very fond of you." His voice betrayed a trace of bitterness now.

Balin put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I think that she would be very appreciative of such gifts, and very grateful to the dwarf who was insightful enough to see that she needed them."

Arrangements were made for Thorin to be at their scheduled training session the following day and Balin left, a smug smile on his face as he closed the door behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: This is my favourite chapter so far. I'm not 100% sure why... Not because something lovely and romantic happens between Thorin and Lífa (it doesn't - not _yet_). I think it is because of the fight. It's a bit of fun. Do let me know what you think. You know I love to get reviews!**

* * *

**Chapter fourteen**

Dwalin and Lífa had already begun their training when Thorin arrived. He joined Balin, who was observing the pair from an elevated platform several metres away. Lífa faced Dwalin, her back to them, as she swayed gently on the balls of her feet – waiting for Dwalin to make a move.

"How is she going?" Thorin asked.

"She does well today" said Balin, with a smile. "She must have had a good breakfast."

* * *

In more than a fortnight of working together, Lífa had not managed to knock Dwalin off his feet, though he had planted her firmly on her behind more times than she could count. Today she was determined to take a point from him, even if it came at the cost of a real injury.

Balin had often spoken to her about studying the way her opponent moved – watching for patterns, unguarded openings or weaknesses. Initially, Lífa had been far too eager to take the time. She thrust aggressively at every apparent gap and was constantly on her front foot – allowing Dwalin to use her momentum to gain the upper hand early in every session.

Today, she stayed put, her weight evenly balanced on well-spaced feet. No matter where Dwalin moved, she should be able to step around him.

Dwalin observed her change of tactics and laughed. "What's going on, lassie? You've never been afraid to take me on before."

Lífa refused to take the bait. She narrowed her eyes at Dwalin, but continued to watch him.

Dwalin was impatient at the inactivity and he advanced on her suddenly. She pivoted around him and pushed him hard from behind. Dwalin stumbled, cursing, but just managed to keep his feet.

Lífa, a delighted smile on her face, looked up to Balin for approval. Seeing Thorin standing beside him, she froze, the smile disappearing from her face. It had been days since she had so much as caught a glimpse of him, and his presence had a profound effect on her. Her pulse quickened, and she blushed under his gaze. He smiled encouragingly at her, and Lífa felt a furious determination to make him proud of her.

Unfortunately, valuable time had passed in her contemplation of the Prince and Dwalin had used it to recover himself and prepare to attack her again. Seeing the look of dismay that suddenly appeared on Thorin's face, Lífa finally looked away to locate Dwalin – just in time to catch an axe on her breast plate, swiftly followed by a shoulder, moving at pace.

Lífa flew backwards through the air and landed on her back on the ground. Though the floor was covered with sawdust, the impact of the axe and the fall were more than sufficient to knock the wind out of her. Her sword fell from her hand as she desperately gasped for air. Dwalin came and stood over her, resting his heavy, booted foot on her now-dented breast plate.

"Never look away from your opponent" he said, grinning widely at her.

Thorin almost threw himself from the platform at Dwalin when he struck Lífa. Now he growled in fury and spun around to descend the stairs to the training ground. Balin stepped in front of his friend and placed a restraining hand on his chest.

"Thorin, she is alright. She will forgive Dwalin for that, but she would not forgive you for interfering" he warned.

Thorin took another step, before dropping his head and turning back to face the combatants below him. He was relieved to see Lífa grasp Dwalin's wrist and allow him to pull her to her feet. He couldn't help but smile when he saw her aim a furious kick at Dwalin's shins and he found himself grateful that he could not hear what she had just muttered to the big dwarf, who was now laughing at her.

Lífa was incensed, but mostly with herself. She had made a fool of herself in front of Thorin, and she was humiliated. What she really wanted to do was run from the training ground and hide, but such a display of weakness and immaturity could only make things worse.

She bent and picked up her sword, never taking her eyes from Dwalin's face.

"Better" he said, still chuckling.

Lífa took a deep breath. She felt power course through her body, fuelled by fury and embarrassment. She positioned herself in front of Dwalin and took up her usual stance – one foot in front of the other, sword poised before her. Dwalin could not hide the smug look that crossed his face when he recognised the beginning of Lífa's usual, largely ineffective, attack. He relaxed his guard and she thrust towards his chest, as she knew he would be expecting her to.

Dwalin stepped slowly to one side, pushing at Lífa with one arm, while the other hung lazily at his flank. But she wasn't there. Surprised, and now slightly off-balance, Dwalin turned quickly towards where he assumed the girl was. He was met by a furious downward blow from Lífa's sword which, given the close quarters, he was forced to take on his forearm.

Dwalin's arms were heavily tattooed and he liked the intimidating effect that his body art could have on an opponent. For that reason, he typically did not wear vambraces. On this occasion, he regretted it. The blow had not been perfectly placed, so he was struck by the guard of Lífa's sword, but there was sufficient power behind it that his nerves reacted automatically, and he dropped Umraz to the ground. He didn't bother to try and pick up the axe, as he was rapidly losing the feeling in his left hand. Instead, he concentrated on regaining his balance. He knew that he could easily defeat the girl with only one axe.

But Lífa was invigorated by her small success and she had not paused in her assault. As Dwalin turned to keep her in his line of sight, she dropped into a crouch and swung her leg towards the back of his knees. Dwalin found his legs swept from under him and he fell heavily to the floor. Lífa immediately leapt on him, her knees pinning his upper arms to the ground. Dwalin looked up to see her pretty face bearing a fierce expression, framed by her wild red hair, as she held the point of her sword firmly at his throat.

"Drop. Your. Axe," she said, through gritted teeth.

Dwalin briefly contemplated throwing her from his chest and disarming her – something he was confident he could do – but he had considerable respect for the girl's ability to take a beating, and for her willingness to learn. She had worked hard to earn this victory and he would not take it from her. He opened his right hand and released Ukhlat, before bowing his head in recognition of her success.

Lífa sat astride Dwalin's chest for a moment, stunned. She could not believe she had not only knocked the great warrior to the ground, but also disarmed him. Then she raised her head and gave a great whoop of delight. She rolled off Dwalin and jumped to her feet, turning to look at Balin and Thorin.

"Well done lassie" Balin called to her, a wide grin on his face. Thorin was nodding with approval and, as she met his gaze, he raised his hands and applauded her victory. Lífa wanted to be a dignified and gracious winner, but she was so delighted, she jumped up and down like a child.

Thorin chuckled, and said to Balin "That was very impressive. But I see what you mean about the equipment. I will get on to the armoury right away."

He looked down again to see that Dwalin was now on his feet. He slowly approached the girl to shake her hand, but Lífa was having none of it. She ran to Dwalin and, pushing his arm aside, threw her arms around his neck – planting a big kiss on his cheek. She was still giggling delightedly and Dwalin allowed her to hang off him for a few moments, before he pushed her gently away, muttering under his breath.

Thorin drew in his breath sharply as he watched Lífa kiss Dwalin. His hands knotted into fists as anger coursed through his body. Beside him, Balin tensed. He knew that what Thorin was seeing was a display of warmth and enthusiasm that was actually quite typical of Lífa - but Thorin, who had spent comparatively little time with her, would not know this. Balin opened his mouth to say something tactful, but Thorin was already striding away.

* * *

Lífa knew she had embarrassed Dwalin with her demonstration of affection, but she saw him smile as he walked away. She ran towards the stairs, eager to share her triumph with Thorin. When she reached the platform, Balin was standing alone. He watched as her smile quickly disappeared.

"Oh" she said. "Where is Thorin?"

"Ah, he had to go, lass. He's a busy dwarf." Balin's heart hurt a little for the girl. She was clearly crushed by Thorin's departure. "Come on, let's find some ale so we can celebrate properly" he said, in his best cheerful voice.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I want to take a moment to thank some of my most loyal reviewers (_mrsmiawallace88_, _Inertia18_, _UKReader_ and _photogirl894_). Your encouragement means a lot to me. As a little reward for you (and assuming you will enjoy it) here is a slightly more suggestive, and reasonably long, chapter. Things begin to progress...**

* * *

**Chapter fifteen**

Lífa requested a bath be prepared in her room and then joined Balin and Dwalin for a celebratory ale. She was no longer in any mood to make merry, though she tried her best to pretend. At the earliest possible polite opportunity, she excused herself and headed for her quarters.

As she strode down the corridors she remonstrated with herself in her head. How could she have been so silly and impulsive? She should not have behaved with such impropriety – especially not in front of the Prince. But then, it did seem like Thorin was pretty hard to please. Well, _she _certainly found it hard to please him. He appeared determined to be constantly angry with or disapproving of her.

It was obvious that he did not have the same feelings for her that she was fast developing towards him. The realisation made her feel angry and embarrassed, and she threw the door to her room open with such force that the handle hit the wall behind and broke.

Immediately contrite, she went and requested assistance. After extracting a promise from an amused dwarf craftsman to come and replace the door handle as soon as he was able, Lífa once again headed for her room, sure that her bath would, by now, be cold.

On reaching her room she pushed the door closed behind her. It didn't click into place, but it was a heavy wooden door and she knew it would not swing or tilt open unless firmly pushed.

Lífa went and tested the water in the large, wooden tub and was delighted to find it was still warm. She stripped off her clothes and put on the blue silk robe that had been left in the room for her use. Lífa had never worn silk before she came to Erebor and she adored the feeling of the cool, smooth fabric against her skin.

She selected a small bottle from a selection on a tray beside the bath, removed the stopper and poured several drops into the water. Finally, she put a couple more pieces of wood on the fire in the hearth. She didn't want to be cold when she got out.

As Lífa slipped into the warm water, relaxing scents and steam rising around her, she felt her anger and humiliation ebb away. She slid down under the water and fanned her hair out around her body, enjoying the feeling of being weightless in the giant tub. She wondered how Thorin could manage to be constantly grumpy when his life was full of such luxuries.

* * *

Thorin had walked off his fury by the time he got back to his study. He was, of course, being ridiculous. Lífa was clearly elated at besting Dwalin and, given the level of skill Thorin knew his friend possessed, rightly so. Frerin had often spoken of how enthusiastic and demonstrative Lífa was, so her actions were not out of character. But it seemed that Lífa was only enthusiastic and demonstrative with others, not him – and Thorin admitted to himself that he was jealous.

He sighed. He certainly wasn't going to win her over by storming away and spoiling her victory. Not that she would have wanted him there to celebrate with, but he should have stayed to offer his congratulations and give specific praise.

No matter. He would make it up to her by commissioning beautiful armour and a superior weapon for her. Thorin began to sketch as he replayed the fight in his mind, recalling how Lífa moved and how her equipment had behaved. When he was finished, he headed for the armoury. He would ask Nyrath, the master armourer, to fashion something for Lífa, and then he would see Suthri the blacksmith about a sword for her.

Thorin was almost at the armoury before he realised that he did not have enough information for either dwarf to begin work. Neither Nyrath nor Suthri were familiar with Lífa, so they would both require measurements to work from.

Thorin stopped and leaned against the wall. He felt a childish desire to make this a surprise for Lífa. But how was he supposed to get her measurements without telling her the truth?

He'd been contemplating the problem for several minutes before he recalled a complaint his mother had made the previous evening, about Lífa never wearing a dress. Perfect. Well, not perfect but, as a ruse, it would do.

Lífa would no doubt still be celebrating with Dwalin and Balin, but he would try her room. If she wasn't there, he would enlist the help of one of the female staff to get Lífa's measurements, once he had told her what information he required.

Thorin felt quite pleased with himself. He marched off towards Lífa's quarters with a smile on his face.

* * *

Lífa, floating just under the surface of the water in the bath, did not hear Thorin's knock at her door. The water was beginning to cool and she knew she should get out.

She slowly stood and, raising her arms, drew her long hair over her shoulder and began to squeeze some of the water out of it. It was then that she heard the crash behind her.

* * *

Thorin was disappointed that Lífa was not in her room. He had gotten quite absorbed in the project – it was so much more personal and enjoyable than most of the work he undertook each day – and he was eager to get it underway. He briefly considered going to look for Lífa, but he pictured her having a merry celebration and thought better of it.

Thorin sighed and leaned heavily back against the door.

He got a fright when the door swung open and he only just managed to stop himself from falling onto his behind inside Lífa's room. He reached down to pull the door closed again when he heard a splashing sound behind him.

Thorin turned to see Lífa rising out of the huge bath which had been moved in front of the fire. Her back was to him and he knew he could escape without her noticing him if he moved immediately. But his feet felt glued to the floor as he gazed transfixed at the naked girl in front of him.

Her copper hair was darker when wet, and it hung down and covered her bottom. The bath was deep and he could not see her legs. He flinched when she reached around and pulled her hair forward, but she didn't turn her head.

Thorin groaned inwardly in shame. Lífa's bottom was now in full view and, instead of considering her modesty, and avoiding any possible embarrassment, by slipping quietly out the door, he was just standing there – continuing to stare at her. He frowned slightly at the sight of multiple bruises, in various stages of fading, on her back and arms.

Thorin could not bring himself to move. He watched droplets of water run down her back and over her shapely rear and he felt heat building in his body. He was furious with himself. He was now aroused by the sight of this girl and she didn't even know he was there. Had he no honour?

Through sheer force of will he took a step back and turned towards the door. Unfortunately, he had moved too quickly, and his large, booted foot kicked the armour piled precariously next to the door. It crashed to the ground.

He froze, head down and eyes clenched closed, still grasping the door handle.

Lífa swung around towards the sound, with a squeal of fright. When she saw Thorin standing at the door, facing away from her, she was stunned. She could think of no possible explanation for his being there.

"Thorin?" she began.

He raised his head and began to turn to her.

"NO!" she shouted. "Stop – don't turn around. Don't look at me. I'm naked for Aulë's sake!"

Lífa frantically began to reach around for her robe but, in her panic, she could not find it. Eyes fixed on Thorin, she bent over and worked her way around the edge of the tub, feeling for the stool she had dropped the robe onto.

Thorin knew he should walk out but he was too ashamed to resist attempting an explanation.

"Lífa" he said calmly "I am going to turn towards you so that I can speak to you, but I will have my eyes closed. Is that agreed?"

"NO! No, it is not agreed" she shrieked. Lífa had been embarrassed before – many times. In fact, she had been embarrassed in front of Thorin many times. But she had never been this embarrassed in all her life.

In her panic, she stepped back too quickly in the tub and lost her footing, slipping over with a little "eeep" of protest.

Thorin heard the sound, followed by a big splash, and he began to gingerly turn towards the bath.

"Don't move," Lífa growled.

"Are you -" Thorin began.

"I am fine" Lífa snapped.

But she wasn't fine. She was trapped. When she fell, her hair had caught on one of the rings used to suspend the bathtub from a wall when not in use. Now Lífa found that a significant portion of her hair was stuck and, the more she pulled at it, the worse it seemed to get.

Lífa's movement was limited. From her awkward position, kneeling at the edge of the tub, Lífa could turn her head just far enough to see Thorin, who was obediently facing away from her just inside the door. She turned back and tried to move her head closer to the ring, to get some slack to work with. It was impossible, and a small cry of pain and frustration escaped her.

"Lífa," Thorin asked again 'Are you sure you are alright?"

Lífa sighed. She was stuck. It seemed to her that she had two options. Either she asked Thorin to help her, or she asked Thorin to send someone else to help her. Either way, she could not keep her predicament from him. Given that, did she really want to bring in another witness?

Her face crimson with shame, Lífa took a deep breath and began. "No, I am not alright. My hair is caught and I cannot free it myself. I will need you to help me."

Thorin was glad he was facing away from Lífa, as he stifled a laugh. He forced the smile from his lips before he said "Very well, what would you like me to do?"

"Please shut the door – well, push it closed. Then bring a stool and come and sit here by my head. If you sit back from the tub a little, I think that you will be able to reach my hair, without being able to see into – to see – oh..." Lífa groaned and covered her face with her hands.

In silence, Thorin did as he was told. He did not allow himself to look into the tub as he walked around to place the stool beside it. He settled himself where he could reach Lífa's hair and found that, due to the high sides of the tub, he could only comfortably see her head and shoulders.

Lífa twisted her head awkwardly to make eye contact with him. Her expression was such a strange combination of anger, embarrassment and disapproval that Thorin could not help himself. He burst out laughing. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding anything but.

Her expression turned to pure fury before he saw one corner of her mouth twitch slightly.

Lífa desperately wanted to berate Thorin and demand an explanation for his un-princely behaviour, but she had to concede it was an amusing situation, and she could not resist his lovely, low, joyful laugh. She chuckled.

"I must look quite a sight" she said feebly. "I am so embarrassed."

"Not as embarrassed as I am" he said. "What is wrong with your door? I leaned on it and it fell open."

Lífa briefly faked a look of disbelief before she smiled wryly at him and said "It's broken. _I_ broke it. It will be fixed soon."

"Ah" he said. "Well, let me see what I can do."

She could not continue to hold her head at an angle that allowed her to see him – it was too painful for her neck. Lífa turned and looked down, leaning her forehead against the edge of the bath.

She felt his hands in her hair, working gently to free it strand by strand. She concentrated on not thinking about what he would see if he raised his head, or moved closer to the bath.

Sensing her discomfort, Thorin talked to her as he worked. Unfortunately, his stories about being thrown from his pony into a compost heap, and losing his britches in an attempt to rescue Frerin's kite from a stream made her shake with laughter, and she winced in discomfort as her hair resisted the movement.

"Please promise me that you won't tell anyone" she said. "Dwalin would never let me hear the end of it."

Thorin chuckled. "I will not speak of this to anyone," he said.

Slowly, Lífa began to relax. Thorin was methodical in his work: he would select a section of tangled hair; gently work it free; and then smooth the freed locks down over Lífa's head and out of the way. Lífa found that her eyes would close in pleasure each time she felt his hand stroke her head, and a part of her wished that the task would take forever.

As Thorin concentrated on untangling Lífa's hair, he was generally successful in resisting the urge to glance at the rest of her body. But whenever he ran his hands over her hair, his body betrayed him and he felt a slowly escalating desire to touch more of her than just her hair. His eyes would dart to her bare shoulder or exposed neck and, as his breathing began to quicken, he would force his eyes back to the tangled knot in his hands.

Finally, but far too soon, Thorin was finished. "There," he said with a smile, "you are free." He passed Lífa a towel and turned away as she climbed carefully out of the bath, dried herself and wrapped the robe around her body.

"Thank you," Lífa said, holding the rescued hair out to the side as he turned back towards her. "I really didn't want to have to chop it all off to free myself!" She forced cheer into her voice, but her mind was focussed on the fact that she was standing almost naked before the most attractive man she had ever known.

For his part, Thorin was rapidly losing the ability to discipline his own mind, as he observed the delicate silk robe clinging to Lífa's curves, leaving little to the imagination. He realised he had to leave before he pulled her to his chest and kissed her.

He cleared his throat, suddenly worried she could read the intent in his eyes. "I am very sorry for the intrusion. I can't even remember why I came here now. Please forgive me. I must go." He bowed his head and quickly left the room.

Lífa felt torn between relief and disappointment. She had missed spending time with him, so she wanted him to stay. Having said that, she did feel a lot more confident and composed with him when she had clothes on.

She sighed and rubbed at her sore neck.

* * *

**A/N: There - what did you all think? The getting-your-hair-stuck-in-an-awkward-place scenario is just exactly the kind of thing I could see myself doing, so the writing really flowed for me there! **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed my last chapter. For those who are a bit frustrated - I am sorry that the relationship between Thorin and Lífa is such a slow build, but it just feels right to me this way. Unfortunately, they are about to face another setback. Please be patient - I will do my best to make it worth your wait.**

**Thank you all for reading.**

* * *

**Chapter sixteen**

Another week passed after the bath incident before Lífa was alone with Thorin again.

The weather had been bad, so she had not been to Dale or out riding. Members of the royal staff had visited her to take measurements for dresses and "other clothing". Knowing that she looked sufficiently different that Thorin's mother had felt compelled to assist her only made Lífa feel more self-conscious. She still went exploring, but always with her cloak on and the hood up.

For the most part, she did not get lost. She had a good sense of direction, even within the mountain. But on one occasion she did lose her way, and she stumbled upon Thorin.

He was sitting in a large armchair staring into a dying fire and around him, on all sides, were shelves and shelves of books. Given their propensity to bicker whenever they were alone together, Lífa contemplated not going in. But she could not resist the pull of the books and she was not confident she could find the library again.

Thorin looked up as she walked in, and she noted a look of deep worry on his face before he wiped it clear, stood, and smiled at her.

"I see you have discovered my favourite room."

"I can see why! It is wonderful." She slowly turned in circles as she walked – each time seeing something new. "I am not sure I would ever leave."

They had been moving towards each other and now stood just a couple of steps apart. Thorin felt emboldened by the comfortable, familiar surroundings and he reached out his hand as he said "I am sorry about – the other day."

"Thorin" Lífa said steadily "let us agree to never speak of it again." She concentrated hard on not blushing at the memory.

Thorin smiled warmly at her. "I am glad you came to Erebor" he said.

Making an effort not to say something abrasive that would lead to yet another scrap, Lífa returned his smile and said "So am I. Erebor is beautiful." She looked up at the sparkling ceiling, "Magical."

He took another step forward and his hand was almost touching hers. Lífa looked up into his eyes, sapphire blue and filled with feeling, and moved her own hand towards his.

Suddenly a little voice called out "Lífa! I have found you! Hello Thorin!"

Dis came barrelling into the room. Lífa took several steps back, feeling inexplicably guilty. Dis was oblivious as she ran to her brother and hugged him around his waist before flitting back to Lífa and demanding to be read a book.

It's lucky I can't stay angry at Dis, Thorin thought, as he contemplated how close he had come to telling Lífa how he felt. But she seemed happy in Erebor. He would get another chance.

He smiled "Well, it doesn't seem that I'll be getting any more peace in here." He bowed to Lífa and said solemnly "I will leave you as the guest of Princess Dis. I am sure that she will take good care of you."

"No Thorin, you stay" Dis demanded. There was clearly, in her mind, no possibility that Thorin would disobey her. It gave Lífa more pleasure than she would have admitted to see someone ordering the Prince around, for a change.

Dis grabbed one of Thorin's hands and pulled him to the far end of the library and around the side of a shelf. Lífa followed them into a corner, where cushions and pillows were piled.

"This looks like a lovely spot – is this your special hiding place for reading, Dis?" she asked.

"Yes" said the princess solemnly. "Thorin already knew – he reads to me here. Now I've shown you too you must swear not to show anyone else."

"I swear" Lífa said, placing her hand over her heart. "Right. What shall I read to you today – or is it your turn to read to me?"

"You – but I don't want you to read from a book – I want you to tell me your story" the princess demanded.

"I'm sorry?" It occurred to Lífa that being incredibly bossy obviously ran in the family.

"I want to know why you don't have a beard."

"Dis!" Thorin was mortified, but there was no taking it back now. It had been said.

"It's alright" Lífa said. "Of course she's curious about it. I look strange."

"I don't think you look strange – I think you look pretty." Dis stretched out a small, chubby hand and touched Lífa's cheek. "You're so soft!" she giggled.

Thorin groaned and hid his head in his hands. He was embarrassed, but he could think of no way to recover the situation.

"Thank you Dis, that's very kind. I suppose I had better tell you then."

"But don't tell mother because she said I was not to ask you about it."

"I won't tell her." Lífa slumped back on to the cushions. "It's probably not as interesting as you are imagining."

"Please tell!" Dis squealed softly with excitement and snuggled back against her older brother.

Lífa took a breath. Her thoughts were muddled. The way Thorin had looked at her. He had reached out to touch her. She wasn't sure if she was only seeing it because she cared for him, but it almost seemed like he was interested in her. What if he was? If he heard her story, he might change his mind.

Still, he would find out eventually. And she did not see how it would be possible to get out of telling them now anyway.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Time to learn about Lífa. Please give feedback if you have time. Thanks!**

* * *

**Chapter seventeen**

Lífa addressed her story to Dis but, as the girl was leaning back against her brother's chest, it was hard to forget that Thorin was listening too.

"I don't know all the details of my story. My mother died when I was born, and I was raised by my grandmother. What I have heard I had from her."

"Oh, that's so sad" said Dis.

"Well, I never knew her, so…" Lífa's voice trailed off. She shrugged. "Anyway, my mother and grandmother lived in a small village on a river."

"How far away?" Dis asked.

"Dis – let Lífa tell her story, or it will be your bedtime before she is finished." Thorin admonished.

"Oh no, I won't go to bed until Lífa is finished" Dis assured him, "but I will be quiet."

Lífa smiled at the solemn nod she received from the little dwarf and continued. "My mother was a gifted healer. That's how she met my father. He, well, I'm not sure exactly what happened, but there was some kind of battle with goblins in the mountains to the west of our home. He was badly injured and somehow he and some of his friends got separated from the rest of their forces. Gram thought they must have come down the river somehow, as they'd never have got that far on foot , given the state they were in. Some hunters from our village found them and they bought my mother to him."

"Gram went too, and she told me that she took one look at his wounds and decided the right thing to do was to give him something to ease the pain so that he could die in peace, but my mother knew she could save him." Lífa smiled proudly.

"They set up a camp out there – right where they found him – and she stayed there for two weeks, nursing him. Then they bought him back to the village. Gram said she could tell, right then, that they'd fallen in love."

"Oh" said Dis, dreamily.

Lífa had to work not to look at Thorin – to see whether he was looking at her and listening or whether, as was more likely, his mind was elsewhere.

"It's a nice story, till then, isn't it?" Thorin noticed Lífa's voice had developed a slight edge. "He got better and eventually his sense of duty took him back to the Iron Hills. He told my mother he would come back for her and they would be married."

"Gram said my mother never doubted that he would return." Lífa's voice was sad.

"She didn't realise – my mother..." Lífa looked at Dis, and wondered how much she should say. She patted her own stomach "She didn't know about me until after he'd gone."

Lífa paused for a time. She wondered if it might not be best to stop there.

"And did he come back?" Dis was tired, but trying to sound wide awake.

"Yes. He came back almost eight years to the day after she died." Lífa closed her eyes and memories surfaced that she had no desire to re-live. She shook her head. "I honestly have no idea what his plan was. He was married by that time. He had become – ah... he'd been promoted. His life was good."

Lífa opened her eyes again and checked on Dis, but the girl was somehow managing to stay awake. "Gram had been waiting, I think, for him to return. She thought he would take care of me. She died, peacefully, while he was there."

"He didn't know what to do with me. He had come looking for my mother, and he got me. He felt guilty – even as a child I could see that. He decided that he would take me with him - back to the Iron Hills. I went from living near a forest and a river among people who had accepted who – what – I was, to living in a cavern inside a mountain, with people who saw me as strange and ugly."

Lífa could sense the emotion from Thorin – it was a real presence in the room. But he didn't speak, and she didn't look at him.

"He was important. Too important to have a bizarre-looking child born to someone other than his wife. So he put me with a couple who had no children of their own. They were kind to me. She taught me music and he taught me to use a sword, and to fight. That was useful, because I got picked on all the time. Only my father and my foster parents knew why I looked the way I did. Everyone else just - speculated."

She laughed – it was a bitter, angry sound.

She addressed her words to Dis, but it was Thorin's face she saw in her mind. She smiled, but the smile did not carry to her eyes. "It's character-building, a childhood like that, Dis. I learned to trust no one and to rely only on myself."

Lífa closed her eyes against the tears that were threatening, and swallowed over the lump in her throat.

"But I still don't understand why you don't have a beard" said Dis, softly. Lífa was conscious that her story had been a bit dark for a child, and she was glad that Dis was still focussed on the beard.

"Oh, well, I guess I got that from my mother." Now Lífa looked up at Thorin. Surely he had already guessed? But he seemed to be waiting expectantly, like Dis. Lífa was suddenly terrified to tell him. She took a deep breath.

"My father was a – a high-ranking dwarf of the Iron Hills. But my mother was not. I mean – what I mean is – my mother was not a dwarf. My mother was of the race of men."

She watched Thorin's face carefully as she said it, and there was no mistaking the expression she saw there. He had clearly not guessed her lineage, because a there was a look of disgust on his face.

Lífa flushed with anger and humiliation. She should have known that Thorin would not accept who she was. It was naive of her to think that it would not trouble him.

"Oh..." said Dis, "that's even better than a made up story!"

"I don't think your brother thinks so" said Lífa, in a small, tight voice. She stood quickly and awkwardly, trying to hide the fact that she had lost some of the feeling in her left foot, which had been tucked beneath her.

"I'm very tired. Please excuse me from story duty now, Princess Dis." Lífa curtseyed and tried to smile.

As she turned to leave she could not resist looking once more at Thorin. Surely, by now, the expression on his face would be kind and interested – like it had been before Dis had burst into the room. But Thorin was not looking at her at all. His face was a blank mask, and he was looking at the opposite wall – avoiding her gaze.

Her eyes filled with tears as she stormed out of the library. How could she have been so foolish? She would never be accepted for who she was – not by dwarves. Especially not by stuck up, self-important, perfect, royal dwarves.

When she got to her room, she fell on to her bed and cried herself to sleep, for the first time in many years.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter eighteen**

Lífa found it easy to avoid Thorin in the following days. She assumed it was made even easier by the fact that he was likely avoiding her too. She kept herself busy and, despite her misery, she found comfort in her new friends and her now familiar surroundings.

It occurred to her that that was a mistake. There was no point in getting comfortable here. There was no future for her in Erebor. She needed to leave.

But she didn't. She often came close, but there was always one more thing she needed to do, or find, or prepare.

* * *

Thorin had slipped back into his routine. He worked himself hard during the day, in the hopes of being tired enough to sleep at night.

The King was venturing outside of his rooms from time to time, but only to commission various settings for his beloved Arkenstone – which he called "The Heart of the Mountain". The biggest project was a new throne, with the Arkenstone set just above the King's head. It would seem to float above him – giving the impression, Thorin supposed, of some sort of divine blessing or sanction.

Thorin tried to tell himself that it was a good thing that the King was moving about within his Kingdom, and interacting with his subjects. But he could see that, even when the King was in conversation with a craftsman or designer, his mind was on the stone and his treasure. He would give no time or energy to the matters Thorin attempted to bring before him and, after a while, Thorin stopped trying. It was too painful.

Thrain seemed to have adopted a different way of dealing with the King's behaviour. Where Thorin threw himself into work, Thrain withdrew. Thorin saw the lines of strain and worry on his mother's face, and concern for his father became yet another burden for the young prince to bear.

* * *

Thorin generally avoided being alone without a stack of work to do but, when it was not avoidable, he distracted himself with music. As he played his harp, he allowed the melodies to take him to happier times and places.

That was how Lífa found him when, returning from one of her explorations, she stumbled upon his personal quarters. She heard the wonderful music from well down the corridor. It was so beautiful that it physically drew her towards the room. When she saw, from the open doorway, that it was Thorin playing, the scene was so incongruous that she was momentarily frozen. Her brain told her that what she was seeing could not be accurate.

To protect herself from further hurt, she had fashioned a new Thorin in her mind – using a small selection of memories and a great deal of imagination. He was a mean-spirited, bigoted, self-centred, grumpy and arrogant prince. But this handsome dwarf, bent over his harp with his eyes closed, playing beautifully, and enjoying the music with a small smile on his face – this could not be the same being.

Lífa slowly regained the ability to move and stepped quietly back out of the doorway. Smiling, she continued to watch him carefully from the shadows of the hallway. He was a wonderful musician. Lífa felt herself begin to soften towards him, and she quickly turned and walked away. It was important to remember him as she had been doing – with that disgusted expression on his face. It would be too painful to go back to thinking of him any other way.

* * *

As was normally the case lately, the music made Thorin think of Lífa. Behind his closed eyes he could envisage her doing all kinds of things that he'd never actually seen her doing – braiding her hair, reading to him, singing, leaning forward to kiss him… He dropped his harp to the ground and ran his fingers through his hair.

He wanted to fix what had happened between them, but he didn't know how. Mostly because he wasn't sure what had happened. He was intrigued by her story and he had wanted to ask her question after question but, having told Dis off for doing just that, he'd had to resist. He had been disgusted by the way Lífa had been treated by the dwarves of the Iron Hills. He was both angry and hurt on her behalf.

And then she had said she was half human. As soon as she said it, he saw it. In hindsight, it was a wonder that he had not figured it out before. When they spoke about it afterwards, Balin insisted that he had guessed it from the moment they had first seen her without her armour.

Thorin realised later that, perhaps because of the surprise, his reactions had been a bit slow. It took him a few moments to take in what she had said and by then it seemed that he'd already done something wrong. She had seen something in his face that had upset her and she was gone.

He would have followed her, but Dis was almost asleep against him. She had turned and put her little arms around his neck and he was forced to carry her to bed. By the time he had deposited Dis in her bedchamber, Lífa was long gone.

He went to her room and stood outside the door. He could hear her crying. He longed to go in and comfort her, but he assumed that it was a private sorrow – for her mother, her grandmother, her village, her childhood or, perhaps, for her father. He left her to her grief.

By the next morning, it was clear that that had been a mistake. She had closed off to him altogether. She would not make eye contact with him and, if he spoke to her, she replied in the shortest possible civil terms. But, for the most part, he did not see her. He was not avoiding her, so he had to assume she was avoiding him.

With each day that passed, the situation became more awkward and more difficult to put right. Thorin had no experience with this sort of problem, and he was too proud and embarrassed to ask anyone for help or advice. He worked, and he worried, and every night he dreamed of Lífa.

* * *

**A/N: Hi everyone. Just a heads up that it may be a few days before I can post Chapter 19. A dear friend of mine reads my writing before I post it and screens it for errors and inconsistencies - and I've become quite dependent on her. Anyway, she has family staying this week and is going to be short on free time for reading. I'm not prepared to post anything that I'm not (almost) 100% happy with, which means that you may all have to wait a little longer, till she is back on board. **

**Thank you all for your patience, and for continuing to read, follow, favourite and review. Especially - thanks for reviewing. :-)**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I'm baa-ack! Sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience. My editor/proof-reader was out of commission for a while, but she is back on board now. I am glad I waited for her, as she made some really good changes to this chapter.**

**While I'm apologising, I should also say another sorry - for putting a song in this chapter. I know, I know... but I really had to include it, as it is the song that gives my fanfic its name.**

**I'll put the rest of my note at the end of the chapter. On with the story!**

* * *

**Chapter nineteen**

Lífa knew that it would make sense to begin withdrawing from life at Erebor, but she had spent much of her adult life alone and the camaraderie of the dwarves was difficult to resist. She particularly enjoyed the companionship of the dwarves she had rescued, Thorin excepted - of course. Balin, Frerin and Dwalin were great company. If she ate meals in the great dining hall, she would seek them out. Thorin was rarely there and, if he was, he ate at the head table. On those occasions, Frerin would also sit with his family but, for the most part, he ate with his friends. Lífa assumed Thorin must take his meals in private.

After one evening meal, Lífa, Balin, Dwalin and Frerin sat talking and laughing long after most of the mess had been cleared away. Lífa was wiping tears of laughter from her face after one of Dwalin's stories when Frerin shyly, and somewhat drunkenly, suggested some music. Dwalin and Balin, after minimal persuasion, went and fetched their viols, but for some reason Frerin was dissuaded from retrieving his flute from his room. Several other dwarves produced instruments and Lífa sat with a group of about a half a dozen other tardy diners and listened to them play several lively, and often funny, tunes.

After about half an hour of playing, and while Dwalin was taking a rigorous drinks break, Frerin asked Lífa if she would sing something for them. Lífa despised singing in public or, in fact, doing anything that would draw the attention of a room full of people. But she had consumed more than her usual limit of ale, the group of dwarves was small and encouraging, and she was conscious that she would be leaving them soon.

Lífa stood and said shyly "This is a song from my village, but I no longer remember the story behind it." She knew she would not be able to sing if she could see everyone watching her, so she walked to the end of the table, turned to face the group and closed her eyes. She cleared her throat and began to sing:

"_Oh love of my heart, when you're far away_

_from the home you will soon be leaving_

_it's many a time by night and by day_

_that your heart will be sorely grieving.  
_

_For the stranger's land may be bright and fair_

_and rich in its treasures golden,_

_you'll pine I know for days long ago_

_And the love that is never olden._

_Oh love of my heart, in the stranger's land_

_there is plenty of wealth and wailing._

_While gems adorn the great and the grand_

_there are faces with hunger paling._

_When the road it is weary and hard to tread_

_and the lights of their cities blind you,_

_won't you turn once more toward our shore_

_and the love that you left behind you._

_Oh love of my heart, when the evening's mist_

_over mountain and meadow is falling,_

_won't you turn away from the throng and list'_

_and maybe you'll hear me calling._

_For the sound of a voice that you seldom hear_

_for somebody's speedy returning,_

_oh run, oh run, won't you come back soon_

_to the one that will always love you._"*****

Lífa had not sung the song in years and she had underestimated the power of music to raise memories long forgotten. Tears had escaped from under her eyelids as she sang and, reaching the end of her song, she was afraid to open her eyes. Eventually, in the silence, she forced herself to do so.

She looked over at her friends.

"That was beautiful" said Frerin softly as he stood up. "Are you alright, Lífa?" He could see she was upset but he wasn't sure what to do.

Lífa looked past Frerin to the other dwarves – most of whom averted their eyes. Dwalin and Balin were looking at her and she thought she saw pity on their faces.

It was all too much for her. She should not have agreed to sing – it was a foolish thing to do.

"I am sorry – excuse me – I'm so tired" she blurted, and she ran around the table and out of the hall in the direction of her room.

* * *

Thorin had entered the room at the far end. He was feeling particularly low and had been drawn to the hall by the sound of cheerful music and general merriment. He had not known Lífa was in the hall and he froze when he saw her stand up. It was clear that she intended to sing or play for the group and, given what she obviously felt about him, he had no doubt that she would stop if she saw him there. But, to his relief, when she reached the far end of the table, she closed her eyes.

As he listened to her song, Thorin felt himself moved. Not just the words and the music, but also her voice, sounded sad and full of longing for somewhere – and someone. Her voice was clear and sweet, but it did not travel like the voices of male dwarves, and he found himself drawn ever closer so as not to miss a single word she sung.

Lífa's song finished shortly thereafter and, as she opened her eyes, Thorin saw that they were full of tears. She looked around the dwarves at the table and it seemed that what she saw in their faces upset her even more.

When Lífa almost ran from the hall, Thorin resisted going after her. No one had yet seen him, so he went out one of the other doors and made his way towards her room.

* * *

Lífa got back to her room and was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. It took all her remaining energy to fling off her clothes, pull on a nightgown and collapse onto the bed.

With her head still full of the childhood memories evoked by her song, she was afraid of what her dreams that night would bring. But she could not resist the pull of slumber and was asleep in minutes.

* * *

Thorin found himself once again standing outside Lífa's room, listening carefully for any sounds of distress. As he leaned closer and pressed his ear to the door, it swung open slightly. Thorin made a mental note to follow up on the repair of Lífa's door himself.

The bedchamber was dimly lit but, with the addition of the light from the corridor, he could see that the room was tidy and ordered, with the exception of the clothes she had been wearing that evening. These were in various corners of the room – clearly thrown off in a hurry.

Lífa was on the bed, though not under the covers. She appeared to be wearing only a nightdress, and Thorin worried that she must be cold.

He stood uncertainly at the door. "Lífa?" he said softly.

There was no response from the girl. As he strained to listen, he could hear her regular breathing - already asleep. She must have been exhausted.

She was clearly not suffering – or, at least, not any longer – so Thorin knew he should leave. Reluctantly, he turned away and began to pull the door to behind him.

Suddenly Lífa gave an anguished cry and she began to whimper in distress. Hesitating only briefly, Thorin pushed open the door and crossed the floor to her bed. Lífa was making small jerking motions and her face was contorted in fear, as if she was dreaming of running away from someone or something.

Thorin was torn. What he wanted to do was to reach down and gather her into his arms, and comfort her until she was sleeping calmly again. However, he knew that it was inappropriate for him to even be in her room while she slept, let alone to touch her. And what would she think if she woke up to find him there?

He called to her quietly, hoping that his voice would reach through the nightmare and lead her to some peace. As the nightmare continued, he stepped as close as he dared and began to sing softly to her. Almost immediately, the movements and the whimpering ceased. Lífa's head turned towards him, though her eyes remained closed. She took a deep, shuddering breath and lay still on the bed.

Thorin sung for a few more minutes and then reached down and carefully pulled the covers from underneath Lífa. He drew them up around her neck and stood looking down at her. Her beautiful red hair fanned out behind her and across the blankets. Her pale skin absorbed the soft radiance from the firelight and gave it the appearance of a warm and healthy glow.

It took an enormous force of will for Thorin to turn and walk towards the door. He turned back in the doorway and thought he saw her eyes briefly flick open before closing again. Thorin quickly and quietly left the room.

* * *

*** This song is not mine - it is a traditional Irish song. The title is _A Stor Mo Chroi_ - which apparently translates to "Love of my heart" (hence the title of my fanfic). I looked up the lyrics online and the lyrics I've used here are essentially correct. However, I have changed a couple of things - to get them to rhyme or to translate them from the Gaelic. If you would like to hear the song, I like the version sung by Bonnie Raitt, with the Chieftains. Check it out on youtube.**

**Ok - I know you have been waiting for a while for this chapter, and I'd like to post two for you tonight, but it's just going to be the one, I'm afraid. This is because chapters 20 and 21 really need to be posted together, as 20 finishes pretty abruptly. My friend is still working on 21, so I hope to post those two for you tomorrow night. **

**As always - thank you to all of you for reading and sticking with me. Please review if you can.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Right - I know I said I'd post 20 and 21 together, because this chapter ends quite abruptly, but I'm having some issues with 21. I'm going to ask for some advice/suggestions at the end of this chapter. If you have a chance (and an opinion or idea) please have a read of my dilemma, and let me know what you think?**

**Sorry - this chapter is a bit dry and administrative. I promise that Thorin and Lífa make some progress in 21 and 22. Good progress ;-)**

* * *

**Chapter twenty**

When Lífa woke in the morning, she felt a lot better than she had the previous night, though she was certainly embarrassed. She had made a fool of herself – singing a sad song, having a cry and then dashing from the room. She was just grateful that Thorin had not been there.

Thorin. She must have had a dream about him. She closed her eyes again and tried to recall it. Yes, she had dreamed about him. He had been watching over her and had sung to her in her sleep. She smiled and stretched. What a lovely dream. She contemplated rolling over and trying to get back to sleep, in the hopes of re-entering the Thorin dream, but in that moment there came a persistent knock at her door.

"Lífa? Are you up, Lífa? You promised we could go on a picnic today. Remember?"

Dis. Lífa smiled. No rest for the wicked.

* * *

While Thorin's night had ended well, his morning could not have had a worse start. When he went to pay the King his usual morning visit, neither his grandfather nor Buri were in the King's chambers. Thorin could think of a dozen places the King could be, but in his heart he where he should check first.

The main treasure chamber, well guarded outside, was deserted inside. Deserted except for the King. He was walking erratically along the paths carved between the small mountains of gold, periodically stumbling over some larger piece of treasure or spinning around to look at something he had glimpsed out of the corner of his eye. Most distressingly to Thorin, the King was muttering constantly – as if he were having a conversation with himself. Thorin could not make out the words, but he found himself glad of that. At one point it seemed as though the King looked right at Thorin, but he did not react. Thorin observed his blank, mad stare and decided that today he would force his father to discuss the issue of what was happening to the King.

* * *

When he reached Thrain's study, his mother was just leaving. She looked tired.

"Is everything alright Thorin?" she asked.

"Yes. Well, no. I mean to speak to father about the King. Today."

"Oh" said Ragna "I am not sure today is a good day Thorin."

She looked at her son and saw the determination on his face. "Well, I can't stop you, and you must do what you think is right. But, may I have a word to you about another matter before you go in?"

"Yes, of course" said Thorin, happy to delay the confrontation with his father.

"It's about the young… the girl that you bought back from Anghaven with you."

"Yes?" Thorin was already defensive.

"Dis tells me that she is only half dwarf and that her mother was of the race of men – is that true?"

"Yes, though I don't see why that would bother you."

"Oh, it doesn't, of course" his mother said hastily. "It's just that there are rumours."

Thorin refused to grace that with a response, simply raising one eyebrow at his mother.

She went on, oblivious (perhaps deliberately) to his anger "I have heard from a couple of different sources, that you are - fond of her. I trust that this is not true, Thorin. You must realise you cannot marry such a – you cannot marry a half-breed. You must have a dwarven heir to secure the line of Durin. To do that, you will need to make a good match – with another dwarf."

It all came out in a rush, as if she expected Thorin to interrupt her at any moment. Thorin was impressed with his own calm.

"I am aware of all my responsibilities and duties, as I am of the responsibilities and duties I am having to take on in the absence of the King and without the assistance of my father – a matter I mean to take up with him immediately."

Thorin moved pointedly around his mother and went into Thrain's study, closing the door behind him.

His father was sitting at his desk, with papers in front of him. This would have been encouraging to Thorin, except that there was no light source nearby and it would have been impossible for his father to read the documents, if he were inclined to do so.

"Father?"

Thrain slowly looked up.

"I am tired, Thorin, and filled with sorrow."

Thorin wasn't sure how to react to that. He did not enjoy displays of self pity in others and, though he knew it was uncharitable, that is what he saw in his father.

"Father, come and help me with my tasks. We will be good company for each other, and I could do with the assistance. The King is no longer aiding me, and I am overwhelmed with work."

"Oh, yes, well, I'm afraid I cannot leave my room at this time. I don't feel well. But you can drop work here in the mornings, if you wish and I will try and get to it."

Thorin would not be discouraged. He took a breath and said firmly, "Father, we need to discuss what is happening to the King."

His father laughed – a bitter laugh. "He is in love Thorin. You have not been in love, so you do not recognise the symptoms, but I can tell you what it is like."

His voice was hard and his eyes looked a little mad. "You can only think of your lover, they haunt your thoughts day and night. The feelings are all-consuming and you find you are forgetting to eat and drink and, sometimes, to sleep. Nothing else will do but being with your lover – all day, every day."

Thorin thought that sounded less like being in love, and more like obsession.

Thrain suddenly walked up to Thorin and stood in front of him, clasping his son's hands. "But, Thorin, your grandfather, the King, is not in love with a dwarf. He is in love with his wealth, his gold, his treasure – and especially, the Arkenstone. The Heart of the Mountain."

* * *

**A/N: Ok - here goes... without wanting to spoil it for you, here is a bit of a rundown of (some of) what happens in the next chapter (as it is currently written): Thorin is asleep at his desk, Lífa finds him, watches him sleep, thinks lovely thoughts about him, touches him gently... Sound familiar? That's because it's VERY similar to what I wrote all of two chapters ago - in Chapter 19. Except it was Thorin watching _her_ sleep. I didn't mean to repeat myself, and I've only just realised I've done it. The problem is that I really like Chapter 21 as it is. I'd rather go back and change 19 than change 21. Can you please share your thoughts with me? Is it too repetitive to use that device again? If so, would it p*ss you off if I went back and changed 19? Ideas? Please review or PM me.**

**Thanks all!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: I would like to say thank you to those who answered my call for help and gave me some feedback on what I should do for this chapter (and chapter 19)._ photogirl894_, _UKReader_, _mrsmiawallace88_ and _caitweenco_ - a shout out to you! You all recommended that I go with my first instinct and leave the chapter as is.**

**So, without further ado, here it is. Do please review and let me know what you think. **

**Thank you again to all reviewers and readers. Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter twenty one**

Thorin could not remember leaving his father's study. He assumed he must have stumbled out and headed straight for the library, which is where he found himself when awareness returned. He had had his desk moved into the room, and it was stacked with documents that required his attention. He slowly walked around the desk and dropped into his chair. Thorin was loathe to feel sorry for himself, but he was overwhelmed. The King was ill, and Thrain was locked in anger and grief, and was withdrawing from the Kingdom and his family.

Thorin desperately wanted to talk to someone about what was going on, but he would not burden his mother or brother with the full weight of worry he was experiencing. And he did not want to expose the weaknesses and flaws of his father and grandfather to anyone outside of his family. He was stuck with the knowledge – alone.

He put his head down on the desk and closed his eyes. After a time, sleep overcame him.

* * *

Lífa decided that children were clearly so energetic because they sapped energy from the adults around them. She and Dis had not strayed far from the mountain for their picnic but, on returning to Erebor later that afternoon, she felt as if she had been away for days. Days filled with running, playing, singing, dancing and an awful lot of noise. She was relieved to drop Dis off with a nursemaid.

She took a bowl of food and a jug of ale from the hall and ate in her room. The silence and stillness was an intense relief. When she'd finished eating, she lay down in her clothes on her bed and closed her eyes. Perhaps having children was not for everyone.

The thought made her sad. It led her down a thought path she had traversed many times before: Realistically, she was unlikely to have any children, so it hardly mattered whether she wanted them or not. She looked too much like a dwarf for a man to be attracted to her, and her appearance was far too human for any dwarf. She could not even be a favourite aunt or cousin, because she had no family, to speak of.

Her eyes filled with tears and, as she opened them, they spilled down the sides of her face onto the pillow. It was time to leave Erebor. She was becoming weak, and dependent on the kindness and friendship of others, and that way would lead to heartbreak. She had specific engagements with both Frerin and Dis the next day, so she determined she would leave the day following that.

Lífa continued to cry quietly as she packed her few belongings. It didn't take long and she did not feel ready to sleep. She was suddenly seized with a desire to see Thorin. If he was in a bad mood she could just steal a few looks at him and sneak away. She splashed some water on her face, tidied her hair and headed in the direction of the dining hall.

Thorin was not in the dining hall, his study or his personal chambers, so Lífa made her way to the library. The huge door was partly closed. Lífa had never seen it anything other than wide open before, and she hesitated. She quietly peeked into the room, and initially it appeared empty. She had taken several steps into the library before she realised that Thorin was sitting at the desk near the middle of the room, but his head rested on it and he appeared to be asleep.

She approached the desk cautiously. He was indeed asleep, with his head on his arms. Lífa smiled. She had not often seen Thorin's face completely relaxed – without anger, disapproval, worry, sadness or some kind of strong emotion making little wrinkles and creases around his eyes. He looked young. And beautiful. She moved to stand next to his chair, and stared at him.

His wavy black hair was past shoulder length, and a braid hung down either side of his face, each fastened with a small, embossed silver clasp. She could only see his right hand, which showed several ink stains, as well as the calluses typical of someone who regularly used a sword. His beard was drawn into one plait, also fastened with a silver clasp. In the warmth of the library he did not wear a cloak or coat, but was clad in his usual indoors attire – blue tunic and trousers with embossed detailing.

Lífa could not help herself. She reached out and gently stroked his beard with her hand. Thorin woke with a start and seized her wrist, pulling her hard towards him as he stood. "What...?" He froze when he saw it was her.

"I'm sorry Thorin, I didn't mean to frighten you. I was just ..." What _was _she doing? Lífa couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound suggestive.

Thorin gave her a little smile and dropped her wrist. "No, I'm sorry, I over-reacted." He turned and looked at the desk with a puzzled expression. "Do you know – I think I have been sleeping here all day!"

He pushed his chair back and reached his arms above his head to stretch. Lífa was still staring at him. She had never been attracted to someone like this before. She knew it was utterly futile, but she could not pull her eyes away. His chest was broad and his stomach quite flat for a dwarf – all suggesting significant muscle beneath his tunic. She looked up to find him considering her carefully. He must have seen her staring at his body. She blushed and turned her head away.

To distract him, she moved over to the fire. She rubbed her wrist surreptitiously where he had grabbed her. Thorin came up quietly beside her. He took her arm again and raised her hand to his face. Lífa turned to look at him. "I'm sorry if I hurt you" he said, and he lowered his head to kiss the inside of her wrist.

At his kiss, Lífa felt as if something had exploded inside her body. A powerful wave of desire gripped her and enveloped her. It felt like every cell in her body wanted to be closer to him. Wanted to be touching him.

But the voice of doubt interrupted her chaotic thoughts with a chilling, calm reminder – he was disgusted when he found out you were half human. He is repulsed by you.

Lífa pulled her arm away and took several steps back.

Thorin observed her reaction and misread it. He had moved too fast and it had frightened her. It was obvious she was about to turn and leave the room and he desperately wanted her to stay. He walked to the far corner of the library and carried a second armchair back to the fire.

"Lífa, will you stay and talk with me awhile?"

Thorin placed the armchair next to his, but not too close, and he sat down. He gave her what he hoped was a winning smile and patted the chair next to his.

"Please?"

Lífa wanted to leave. She wanted to leave the room, and leave Erebor, before she fell in love with the place. And before she fell in love with Thorin. She wanted to protect herself from hurt and pain. But she also wanted to stay. She had passed the point where she could resist the temptation to be near him, even for her own good. And she sensed he needed her, even if he didn't _want_ her. She nodded and sat down.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Ok - I know you have all been waiting FOREVER for this, so I just hope it lives up to expectations, and keeps you going for a little while longer! Please please PLEASE review. I am quite unsure about this one.**

* * *

**Chapter twenty two**

Lífa was glad she stayed. They sat and talked for several hours. At one point Thorin went and fetched some food and drink, but otherwise they hardly moved. She knew she would have to tell him she was leaving, but she felt her announcement would shatter the comfortable atmosphere of friendship and peace that existed between them that evening, and she put it off.

Lífa talked to Thorin about her time in the Iron Hills, as well as about growing up in her village. She told him about her Gram, and about the dwarven couple that had also raised her. She shared some of her experiences of living alone, and travelling widely. He was so easy to talk to, and he appeared to hang on her every word. In the end, she found herself sharing much more with him than she had intended to.

For his part, Thorin talked to Lífa about battle, about his childhood in Erebor, and about his desire to travel. He also told her about his parents' mission to get him married off.

"Of course," said Lífa carefully "you will one day be King. I imagine that it is important that you marry someone... suitable." She hoped he would change the subject soon. While she knew he could never be hers, she didn't enjoy discussing the prospect of him being someone else's.

"I'm afraid my idea of suitability does not tally with that of my mother and father. Apparently, suitable ideally means a dull, arrogant, self-absorbed princess." Thorin gave Lífa a wry smile.

"Have you met many?" Lífa asked.

"Many?"

"Many dwarven princesses."

"Only a few. There aren't many." Thorin replied.

"Were they pretty?" Lífa didn't know why she was torturing herself, but she couldn't help it.

"Some of them. Yes." Lífa's heart sank a little. I bet they had lovely beards, she thought to herself.

"But that isn't everything," Thorin continued. "Imagine spending the rest of your life with someone you could not have a real conversation with. Someone you didn't feel able to share your problems with." He looked away from Lífa towards the fire and she saw the now familiar expression of worry on his face.

She made a decision then. She was leaving anyway, so if he rejected her, her humiliation would not be long-lived. Lífa stood up from her chair and went and sat on the arm of his chair. Thorin looked up at her, surprised.

"Tell me what is wrong" she said softly. She reached out and picked up one his braids, and gently ran it through her fingers. "You so often look tired and worried – but you are a Prince of one of the wealthiest and most powerful Kingdoms in Middle Earth. What is it that you worry about?"

Thorin held himself perfectly still. He feared that, if he moved, she might go back and sit in her own chair or, worse still, leave the room altogether. She was so close, he could smell the floral scent of her hair. He reminded himself that Lífa had not always lived with dwarves and she did not wear dwarven braids or have a beard. For that reason, she may not know the significance of touching the braids or beard of a dwarf of the opposite sex. But that knowledge did not halt his desire, and when her arm brushed his face as she absently played with his braid Thorin felt his body automatically respond. He could reach out his arm right now and pull her into his lap and, finally, he could kiss her. He could not believe how much he wanted her. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair and his movement broke the spell.

Lífa dropped his braid and leaned away from him slightly. She was looking down into his face with such genuine concern that he felt his resolve weaken. He _could_ tell her. In fact, he realised he wanted to.

Thorin told Lífa everything. He told her of the King's sickness and of how the Arkenstone had seemed to worsen it. He recounted his experiences of finding the King in the treasure chamber. He spoke of his disappointment with his father and his concern for the rest of his family as a result of Thrain's withdrawal and grief. And he told her about his own feelings – that he felt the weight and responsibility of ruling but without the authority and experience to cope. He told her of his long, dull days at his desk and of the lingering, wakeful nights when his worries would spiral out of control.

Lífa sat and listened without saying a word. Sometimes Thorin would look at her, sometimes, when what he was telling her was particularly painful, he would look away, towards the fire.

Finally, Thorin was finished. He had no idea how long he had been speaking for. He felt a little self-conscious at revealing himself so fully, but he also felt incredibly relieved. "I'm sorry I burdened you with all of that" he said.

"I am sorry you carried the burden by yourself for so long - and I am honoured that you have shared it with me" Lífa replied.

She raised her hand and laid it gently against his cheek. "You are a wonderful leader Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, and you will be a great King."

Their eyes met again and this time neither was able to look away. Lífa now felt and understood all his sadness and worry, and it only made her care for him even more.

Thorin was overwhelmed with gratitude and affection for the girl perched on the edge of his chair. Her hand on his face was warm and soft. He reached his own hand up to her face. He ran his rough fingers lightly down her smooth cheek and his thumb traced down the line of her jaw. She blushed and looked down, dropping her own hand into her lap. Thorin suspected she was thinking about the fact that she did not have a beard and he knew the best way to banish from her mind forever any thought that it might matter to him. He took her hands in his and stood, pulling her up with him. They were so close that he could feel her body trembling and he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her against him.

Lífa thought she might faint. She was sure he must be able to feel and hear her pounding heart. She could feel Thorin's strong arms around her and the hardness of his body as she pressed against him. She gazed up at his face.

"Lífa," he said, his voice low and charged, "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes" she breathed. "Yes."

He lowered his head towards her and she closed her eyes. His lips, when they touched hers, were surprisingly soft. She felt butterflies of joy dance in her stomach. All too soon his lips were gone and she opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her.

Lífa wanted him to kiss her again. She took a breath for courage and ran her hands lightly up either side of his torso. She could feel the hard muscles of his stomach and chest - tense beneath his tunic. Lífa wrapped her arms around Thorin's neck and laid her head down on his chest. She could hear his heart beating and, before she could stop it, her eyes filled with tears. She looked up at him again.

"Why do you cry?" he asked gently.

"Because I'm happy. And sad."

"Oh?" he smiled encouragement at her.

"I never thought – I never thought someone like you could want someone like me. Could find me attractive or want to kiss me, I mean." Lífa was embarrassed even as the words escaped her. She struggled not to look away.

"What do you mean by 'someone like me'?" he asked, his face genuinely puzzled.

"You know what I mean – someone who is half human. Who is not a real dwarf. I saw the look on your face when I told you, Thorin. You were disgusted."

Talking about that awful evening bought back the feelings she had experienced at the time. Anger and humiliation reddened her face and she lowered her head. She removed her arms from around his neck and pushed at his chest, trying to put some distance between them.

But Thorin held firm to her waist. "Is that what you saw on my face?" he said thoughtfully. "No wonder you avoided me after that."

"Lífa."

She would not look up at him. Shifting position to hold her securely with one arm, he put his other hand under her chin and tilted her face towards his. "Hear me now. I have wanted you since the moment I saw you. I was surprised to hear about your heritage, and I was disgusted by the way you were treated, but I could not be disgusted by you. You are beautiful. You are also brave and loving and clever and funny. I have never felt this way about anyone before. I do not care where you come from, or who your parents were. I care about you. I _am_ attracted to you." His solemn face changed and he smiled at her. Lífa felt weak. "And I would like to kiss you _again_."

This time he pressed his lips more firmly against hers. He put his hands at her hips and pulled her against him. Lífa could feel his excitement and it confused and aroused her. Their mouths moved against each other as they kissed and she gasped when he gently ran his tongue across her lips.

She felt a pulse start at her centre and her legs gave out beneath her. Thorin felt her go limp in his arms and he raised his head to gaze down at her.

She had a dazed expression on her face, but her mouth was turned up in a small smile. Her pupils were dilated and she was breathing hard. It was making her chest rise and fall in an incredibly attractive way.

Thorin leaned his head down until his mouth was next to her ear. "I would like to do a lot more than kiss you" he said, his voice thick with longing.

There was a loud cough from the direction of the door.

They froze for a moment and then simultaneously released each other. Lífa spun around to face the door.

Ragna stood there, inside the doorway, with a disappointed expression on her face.

"Excuse me" she said steadily "I don't mean to interrupt. I was hoping to speak to my son about something."

Lífa was mortified. How long had Thorin's mother been standing there? What must she think of her? Lífa was her guest and she had just walked in to find Lífa kissing her son. Her face flushed with embarrassment and she felt she had to escape the room. She walked quickly to the door, muttering an apology to Ragna as she passed. "I – I'm so sorry. I'm sorry" she said, and then she sprinted to her room, her face burning with humiliation.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Thank you, my friends, for your warm praise of the last chapter. I am so glad that you enjoyed it. It was nice to be able to finally dish up a kiss for you all. I decided to bask in your love for a couple of days before I posted this chapter, because I strongly suspect that - after this - you are all going to hate me. But bear with me - I have a plan!**

* * *

**Chapter twenty three**

Thorin frowned at his mother as he walked towards the door.

"Thorin," she said "I thought that we had agreed. This cannot happen."

"It is too late, mother. I love her." His voice caught in his throat as he said it. He smiled as he realised that it was true. He was in love with Lífa.

Thorin walked past his mother and out of the room. After a couple of moments, Ragna followed him. She had no plan in mind, but she knew her duty was to ensure that this romance did not continue.

* * *

When Thorin knocked on Lífa's door, she had only been gone a few minutes, but she had made the most of the time. She had rearranged the bag she'd already packed. It wasn't necessary, but it helped to remind her of her purpose and strengthen her resolve.

Thorin might desire her right now, tonight, but in his mother's eyes Lífa was clearly not a "suitable" choice for any longer term option. Like marriage. She had seen that plainly as she ran past Ragna and out of the library. And Thorin knew what his parents' expectations were, in terms of his choice of mate – indeed, they had spoken of it together this very evening. He would not be considering her for such a role.

Lífa had not thought about it earlier, but now it made sense. She was falling in love with Thorin, but he had only spoken of desire, attraction and caring. He no doubt thought that she felt the same way, and that they could keep each other warm and entertained at night for a time.

Well, she wanted better than that. She had had very limited experience of love-making, and there certainly hadn't been any love involved. Lífa remembered it being painful and awkward, but mercifully quick. She had resolved that her next experience would be with someone she loved. Someone who loved her.

Lífa had never felt physical longing of the kind she was currently experiencing. Her desire was compelling her to do foolish things – like run back to the library and leap into Thorin's arms, whether his mother was present or not. And this was sounding a warning to her. Her reason was compromised.

At that moment, Lífa wanted Thorin but, more than that, she wanted him to love her. If he could not, then she wanted to continue to hope that, one day, someone would. And, in the mean time, she needed to protect herself. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that she could not rely on anyone else to do it. She gave a great, shuddering sigh, splashed cold water on her face, and composed herself.

* * *

Thorin tried to stop himself from hammering on the door, restricting himself to three polite, but firm, knocks. He clenched his fists by his side to avoid knocking continuously when Lífa did not immediately answer the door. He had finally raised his hand to knock again when she opened it.

She stood in the doorway, neither coming out to see him nor stepping to the side to allow him to come in. Thorin saw immediately that something had changed. When he had held her in his arms mere minutes before, she had been all softness and warmth – curves that fitted perfectly against him. She now stood resolutely in front of him, her face set firm in an expression of determination – her body language all hardness and edges.

Lífa was afraid for her resolve if she allowed him to speak first - in case he said something lovely in that seductive voice, so she blurted out "I'm sorry Thorin, but I simply must turn in for the night. I have a busy day tomorrow. Frerin insists that I go and meet his new pony in the morning, and we will then no doubt go for a ride. And, in the afternoon, your sister has engaged me - first to accompany her on a secret mission into Dale. And then, to be some kind of living doll - to be dressed and arranged to her satisfaction. Dis is apparently fed up with my 'dressing like a boy'."

Lífa stopped to take a breath, hoping that her words had sounded calm and confident, rather than like the panicked babble that they really were.

Thorin smiled, slightly relieved that Lífa did not seem overly upset or angry. Obviously his mother's appearance in the library had rattled her. He could understand that. Ragna could be terrifying when she chose to be. He had plenty of time to show Lífa his love, and to find out her true feelings for him. He did not want to wait, but she was worth waiting for.

"Dis and Frerin are incorrigible. I am sorry they pester you so" he said.

Lífa sighed. It was time. But it was so hard to say the words, knowing that – once they were said, she was committed to going. She swallowed hard and said "I will miss them terribly when I am gone."

Thorin's face froze and there was silence for a few long seconds. "What do you mean 'when I am gone'? You are leaving Erebor?" he demanded.

Lífa put her arms behind her back and pinched one hand - hard. She focussed on the small pain there, to distract herself from the almost crippling pain in her chest.

She swallowed hard. "Yes. Well, it was never intended that I would stay for an extended period, if you recall, and I have already been here a good long while. I mean to travel south-east for the winter – I find the weather in that part of Middle Earth to be much more bearable at that time of year."

The weather? Really? She cringed inwardly – certain that he would see the flaws in her story and, through that, the weakness of her resolve to leave.

But Thorin had not had a good few months. Disappointment had been heaped upon disappointment, worry upon worry – and this suddenly made perfect sense to him. Of course she was leaving. He had finally found something that made him happy. Someone he could confide in and draw strength and comfort from. Someone he wanted to protect and love, with all of his heart. And she was leaving him, just at the moment he had realised his true feelings for her.

He steered a route clear of self pity. It wasn't unfair or unjust – it was just life. The life of a leader. It was not for him to rely on someone else to share his burden or to take care of him – he had to stand up and face the problems of his life and his people alone. Indeed, the intensity of feeling he had for this girl could lead him to weakness, or to make poor decisions on behalf of his Kingdom. It was better to have his mind and heart free, even if it meant being lonely for the rest of his life.

Thorin was not sure how long he had been standing there ordering his thoughts but, however long he had been lingering, appearing stunned, he meant to make up for it now. He stared steadily at the pretty girl standing in the doorway, her hair like waves of liquid flame in the light of the corridor torches. He felt his pride and dignity fall about his shoulders and click into place around his body, like strong, reliable armour.

"I am sorry to hear that you are leaving, but I wish you well in your travels, and for your future" he said in a confident, even voice.

He bowed formally, from the waist, then turned and walked away.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter twenty four**

Lífa stood stunned, staring after Thorin. A few minutes passed before she was able to move. She shut the door and threw herself down on her bed. Her chest felt so constricted that she could scarcely breathe and there was a lump in her throat that she could not swallow past. She pushed off her boots and crawled under the covers in her clothes. Her hands were clenched into fists and were shaking with the effort she was exerting to hold herself in check. Finally, Lífa relaxed her hands and allowed the wave of grief to crash over her. She let out a loud sob before rolling over to weep into her pillow. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

At the far end of the hallway, Ragna had remained hidden. She felt uncomfortable eavesdropping on Thorin and Lífa's conversation but she told herself that she needed to know what was going on, in order to guide Thorin to make the best decision possible for Erebor. She was relieved to hear that the girl was leaving, despite the fact that she could see, even from that distance, that the news had a profound effect on her son. She knew he would be hurt and would grieve for a time, but he was young and would recover.

Thorin left, but Ragna had to wait until Lífa closed her door in order to pass her room undetected. For this reason, she was still in the corridor when the girl began to sob. Ragna frowned. Though she liked Lífa, she did not know her well – but Ragna was a mother, and those sounds of grief made her want to go to the girl and comfort her. She stood still for a few moments, and then willed herself onward and away from Lífa's room. This was the right thing for both of them, Ragna was certain of it. Almost completely certain.

* * *

Lífa woke to a headache and the discovery that she had cried so much before she fell asleep that she could barely open her eyes. She longed to tell Frerin and Dis she was sick and then stay in bed all day. Then she could sneak off that night, having had plenty of rest.

She lay for a while, contemplating that possibility. After a time, Lífa groaned and swung her legs out of bed. She was very fond of Dis and Frerin and they had done nothing wrong. She did not want to let them down, especially on their last day together.

Lífa soaked a cloth in cold water and began to gently sponge her eyes.

By the time Frerin came impatiently knocking at her door, the cold water had reduced the swelling in her eyes somewhat and Lífa was otherwise reasonably presentable. She glanced briefly into the mirror beside the door, concentrating on fixing a believable smile to her face. If Frerin noticed that anything was wrong, he did not say so, and they were quickly on their way to the stables.

* * *

In the end, the day was quite enjoyable. Because she was never alone, Lífa had almost no time to think or dwell on her sadness and for that she was grateful. There were brief moments of panic, when she thought the grief would overwhelm her self-control and she would cry in front of Dis or Frerin, but those moments always passed.

Indeed, it was possible that the day would have been successful in terms of improving her mood, had Dis' plan not involved a trip to the "lolly" shop in Dale. It was Lífa's first time eating the hard, crunchy treats and she had overindulged, not realising the effect they would have on her, after the fact.

She and Dis lay on the large soft bed in Dis' room, Lífa groaning softly and rubbing her sore stomach.

"Dis" she cried "What have you done to me? No wonder your mother does not allow you to eat these things."

"I ate twice as many as you and I am fine" Dis stated, as she sat up. Her face went slightly pale and she pinched her lips together. "But perhaps I will lie here a little longer, to keep you company." She collapsed back down on to the bed.

In the end, they both fell asleep.

* * *

Thorin finally tracked his mother down in the kitchens. She was planning some sort of special menu with the head cook. He took her aside and gave her the news in a detached, cool voice: "Lífa is leaving tomorrow. I thought you would be pleased to know."

Ragna took his arm and drew him to one side, away from the bustle in the heart of the busy room.

"Thorin, I hope you know that I never wanted you to get hurt. I believe – I think that I was at fault in not realising the depth of your feelings before it was too late. I am sorry that Lífa is leaving, because I know that it will cause you pain, but I am also relieved, because I believe she would have distracted you from your duty, your responsibilities in continuing to safeguard the security of this Kingdom."

Thorin waited silently for his mother to finish and then firmly pulled his arm from her grasp. His eyes, as they rested on her, were dull and empty, and she felt a small twinge of doubt.

"Mother, rest assured that I have placed my duties and responsibilities as Prince of Erebor well ahead of my own happiness and comfort recently – as I have done in the past and will endeavour to continue to do for as long as I live" Thorin said, in a flat but somewhat hostile voice.

Ragna flinched as he rapidly turned and stalked towards the door. He paused in the doorway and turned back to her.

"What is all – this?" he gestured at the list she still grasped in one hand, and then to the increased level of activity in the room.

"Well, I thought we would have a special meal tonight." She coughed. "And the timing has worked out well, it seems – we could make it a farewell for Lífa?" she suggested weakly.

The pain in Thorin's eyes was unmistakeable, before he closed them and turned away.

As her son walked out of the room, Ragna found a chair and sat down. Suddenly she felt decidedly unwell, and unhappy.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: "What, another chapter so soon?" I hear you all ask... Well, I feel bad that I'm putting you through this whole Ragna sabotage thing, so I'm powering through the writing for you. Please review and let me know what you think (and thanks so much for the reviews and PMs so far)!**

**Oh - random fun fact: at the moment (i.e. before posting this chapter) this story is 33,333 words long! **

* * *

**Chapter twenty five**

Lífa woke first and, seeing the little dwarf snoring quietly, attempted to sneak out of the room in order to avoid part two of what Dis had planned for her that afternoon.

She made it as far as the door before she heard an indignant voice say "Where are you going, Lífa? You promised you would wear a dress."

Lífa's shoulders drooped as the little whirlwind blew past her to open the door and yell into the apparently empty corridor "BEYLA – I NEED you."

* * *

Thorin found that, of all the administrative tasks that were his responsibility, accounts were the most distracting. If he allowed his mind to wander part way through his work he would inevitably lose his place and have to start again, so he was compelled to concentrate. He passed an uneventful afternoon in that manner, and found himself grateful that the task had not allowed him the opportunity to think about his grief over Lífa or his anger at his mother.

In the late afternoon, Frerin burst into the library and disturbed his peace.

"Is it true? Is she - is Lífa really leaving? How could you let her go? I thought you cared about her? Don't you? What did you do? Have you upset her?" Frerin blurted out.

Thorin sighed.

Frerin sat on the edge of Thorin's desk and made a visible effort to calm himself. "Thorin –"

"This is not something that I wish to discuss, brother" Thorin said firmly.

Thorin wanted to end the conversation, before Frerin got warmed up to his topic. He was aware that Frerin was very fond of Lífa and he did not want to raise his brother's hopes.

Frerin held his hand up in protest. "Thorin - I've seen how you look at her. How you look at anyone else that looks at her. I've heard how you talk about her. Look – it seems like you really care for her." The last sentence came out in a rush. Frerin spoke again before Thorin could interject "And it's obvious that she also cares for you. Now, I don't know what's happened or why she's leaving, but it seems to me that you'll regret it for a long time if you just let her go."

Thorin pushed back his chair and stood up, and now his face betrayed his anger.

"I appreciate that you have seen fit to come and lecture me about something that is my own private business." Frerin tried to speak again, but Thorin spoke over his objections. "But I neither wanted nor sought your advice."

Frerin's face fell. He stood and walked towards the door. Pausing, he turned back to his older brother. "Please Thorin" he almost whispered "are you made of stone?"

Thorin's shoulders slumped as Frerin shuffled out of the room.

* * *

Beyla, it turned out, was one of the female staff of the royal household – older than Dis, but still a youth by dwarf reckoning – and, according to Dis, a genius with hair and dressing up and "making me look pretty."

Lífa was now seated in front of Dis' dressing table, while both Dis and Beyla brushed, pulled and plaited her hair. Ribbons and other hair decorations were suggested and then discarded. Hair was arranged, appraisals were made and braids were subsequently undone, to be started again.

Lífa sighed deeply.

"Don't worry Miss," said Beyla cheerfully "we'll be finished here soon, and then it will be time to choose a dress."

Dis squealed with joy at the prospect and Lífa rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. She looked down at her clothes – what was wrong with what she was wearing? Dis had pointed out that she was wearing the same thing she wore every day, which was essentially true. Heavy leather boots, trousers made of soft, but tough suede, a shirt made of a similar fabric which closed with a lace, and a leather bodice over the top. All in various shades of brown.

Lífa particularly liked the leather bodice. If someone had asked, she would have said it was because it provided a form of light, but reasonably effective armour. It was certainly a more comfortable alternative to her ill-fitting plate armour. But the truth was, she liked it because it encased her breasts and gave her the freedom to run and ride and fight (to 'act like a boy', as Dis would say) in comfort. It was fitted to her body and accentuated both her waist and her breasts, so she had thought it was also reasonably flattering.

While she didn't wear the same clothes every day, she did wear different versions of the same clothes every day, so she could see how Dis could get that impression. It made getting ready each day very easy. Lífa was genuinely puzzled as to why someone would want to have a number of very different options for clothing once they had found an outfit that worked for essentially every occasion.

Dis snapped her out of her thoughts with a quiet "Oooh – look!"

Lífa looked back up into the mirror and was not able to stop herself from smiling. Beyla had indeed done wonders with her hair. Most of it fell in soft, gentle waves to reach half way down her back. Beyla had given her hair a trim and it seemed to have stopped it from frizzing. She had plaited Lífa's hair into various braids, which were woven through with green ribbons and gold thread and fastened with gold clasps.

As Lífa gazed at her image, her hair done in a traditional dwarf fashion, her face fell. With her hair pulled back, her lack of a beard was now more obvious than ever. Lífa raised her hand to her naked cheek. Beyla had obviously read her thoughts. She smiled kindly and said "I think you look beautiful, Miss."

* * *

Thorin had returned to the privacy of his living quarters. He paced back and forward before the empty fireplace, thinking, until he had almost worn a track in the floor.

He had begun to resolve himself to losing Lífa and it had taken a good deal of doing. He wasn't sure that he could entertain again the possibility of them being together, only to have his hopes dashed once more.

The debate raged inside his head. He wasn't talking to himself but he did find himself making exasperated noises or vigorous gestures from time to time.

This was how Balin found him. He stood at the door with a questioning expression on his face.

"You don't want to know" Thorin answered his unspoken question. "What is it?"

"Your mother sent me to inform you that it was time you were at dinner."

As Thorin made his way to the door, Balin held up his hand to stop him. "Thorin, if I may?"

Thorin groaned. "If this is about Lífa, then please do not speak. I cannot discuss this anymore."

"Very well" said Balin. "Let me just say this – there is much to admire about you – as a leader, a warrior and a friend. I believe one of your greatest qualities is courage. Do not let it fail you now."

As Balin turned and left, Thorin turned and slowly walked towards the back of his room. A bulky bundle of items wrapped in silver cloth caught his eye, and he suddenly knew what he would do.

It was entirely possible that all these discussions – with his mother, his brother, and his friend - were unnecessary. They were obviously confident of Lífa's feelings for him, but Thorin was not. However, he meant to find out.

I will do this, he thought, this small thing - for me.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Hello all. This is a shorter chapter, so I decided to use this opportunity to post a bit of a disclaimer. **

**When I first decided to write a fanfic, I knew next to nothing about fan fiction and I had not read any. I had a story I wanted to write, but it was based in someone else's world, starring someone else's characters - so it was fan fiction. I have probably read LOTR upwards of a dozen times, but have only read The Hobbit a couple of times. The Silmarillion and the full LOTR appendices - maybe once. The LOTR movies I've seen oodles of times. The Hobbit movie - ditto. Indeed, it was the Thorin of the Peter Jackson movie that I was inspired by (I honestly can't imagine anyone falling in love with Tolkien's original Thorin).**

**In the beginning, I intended to be absolutely true to Tolkien's universe - I would keep to the time line, all of his characters would remain completely in character, and all journeys and locations would be accurate to his maps. However, it quickly became clear that that would not be possible if I wanted to write a story about Thorin falling in love before the fall of Erebor. That is because Thorin was all of about 24 years old when Smaug came - far too young by dwarf reckoning for his parents to be forcing him to choose a mate. That was the first of my little accuracy failures. **

**After that, they came thick and fast. I played fast and loose with the ages of Dwalin, Balin, Frerin and Dis, so as to fit them in to my story. [I have also done this with other Tolkien dwarves whom you have not yet met in my story - but you'll know them when you do]. I advanced Thror's gold sickness and gave Thrain a bit of a dose too. I invented towns, and moved mountains, rivers and forests to suit my plot. **

**Why am I writing this apology/disclaimer now? Well, I'm about to get in to writing about dwarven braids and courtship and armour and weapons and other such disparate subjects and, while I could have researched my butt off about those things to find out what little scraps of detail Tolkien gave us about them, and then what various Tolkien scholars and fans have extrapolated from those scraps - I decided not to. I hope that what I have done is at least congruent with Tolkien's world - I have tried always to keep his writing in mind. **

**At the end of the day, this isn't an attempt to add chapters to the start of The Hobbit - it is a piece of fan fiction. ****So, with that in mind, please forgive my inaccuracies, guesses and wild speculations and just **enjoy this tale for what it is: a fanfic by an infinitely inferior writer, inspired by a great story.

* * *

**Chapter twenty six**

Lífa stood in front of Dis' full length mirror and gaped at herself. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Could that actually be her?

She wore a full-length dark green gown with a boned, fitted corset, long sleeves and a full skirt. She turned slightly from side to side, causing the skirts to sway around her. The fabric caught the light and the gold detailing throughout the dress sparkled. She saw now that her hair had been prepared to match this dress, so there was never actually any possibility of Beyla and Dis permitting her to choose her own attire.

She was pleased to find that she was not as uncomfortable as she had thought she would be in such a dress. Lífa had assumed she would have to wear uncomfortable undergarments, in order to create a suitable silhouette, but Beyla had professed herself delighted with Lífa's curvy figure. Lífa was only required to wear a silk shift and underwear beneath the dress as the structure, she was told, came from the dress itself. The silk felt divine against her skin and, while the corset was restricting, it was by no means so uncomfortable that she felt it necessary to protest.

Dis stood behind Lífa, with her arms folded and a smug smile on her face.

Lífa turned to Dis, and smiled, admitting graciously "You were right, Dis - it does feel wonderful to get dressed up like a girl."

Dis, similarly attired in a buttercup yellow dress, exclaimed excitedly "You look beautiful! I can't wait to see Thorin's face when he sees you walk in!"

In all the hustle and bustle, Lífa had temporarily forgotten the prince. Now that she was reminded of him, and of his calm acceptance of her imminent departure, her face fell and she turned quickly from Dis so that the little girl would not see.

She took a deep, calming breath and glanced again at her reflection. Immediately, a new problem presented itself. The dress had a low neckline. This would not be an issue, except that the boning in the corset pushed her breasts up so that they were much more prominent than they had been in any outfit Lífa had worn previously. She blushed.

Lífa reached back for a handful of her long hair, and pulled it forward and across her chest. However, the braids at the side of her head drew all her hair back, so, as soon as she let go, the tresses that had formed a modest cover slipped back over her shoulder. Lífa sighed.

Dis had lent her a lovely pendant – a teardrop-shaped emerald on a delicate gold chain. Lífa was sure that Dis had not done so intentionally, but it made her décolletage the unquestionable centrepiece. Two sparkling gold lines and a large green gem pointed directly at her cleavage. Lífa blushed - again.

Oh well, she thought to herself, at least if everyone is staring at my chest, they won't notice how often I'm blushing.

She turned away from the mirror and put her hand into the small chubby one that reached out for her.

* * *

Thorin briefly glanced in the mirror before leaving his room. He wore his usual dark blue, but his tunic and trousers were of a more expensive and luxurious material. Patterns corresponding to symbols of the line of Durin, and the Kingdom of Erebor were embossed in silver and an even darker blue thread around the borders of his tunic. A heavy but beautifully-made silver belt sat over the tunic. He shrugged at his reflection. Lífa had never shown any indication that she was the slightest bit interested what she, or anyone else, wore, but the formal clothes helped him to focus on the importance of the evening ahead. Potentially, his last chance.

* * *

While the feast was special, no important guests from outside Erebor were being entertained so it was a relaxed, if slightly more lavish, gathering inside the hall. When Thorin arrived, Ragna was already seating people and he was delighted to see that Thrain was present and looking quite engaged.

Thorin scanned the room for Lífa's distinctive red hair and, not seeing her, responded to his mother's gestures and went and sat at his father's right hand.

Frerin sat on Thorin's other side, but did not acknowledge his older brother.

"Frerin" Thorin said, resting his hand on his brother's shoulder, "I am sorry I was sharp with you earlier. I know that you meant well."

Frerin turned and gave Thorin a smile. "I understand. I know it isn't my business."

They both turned and looked out over the boisterous crowd.

Frerin cleared his throat. "So, um, have you fixed it with Lífa yet?"

Thorin shook his head, exasperated. "No, Frerin!"

Frerin looked dejected.

"But I mean to do so tonight, if it is within my power" Thorin added.

Frerin grinned and then his gaze was caught by something beyond Thorin and his mouth dropped open.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Just a quick note from me. I was delighted today to see that I now have 85 reviews (and all of them saying nice things)! And nearly 50 favourites. I'm so stoked. You guys make me so happy! I hope this chapter makes you happy. ;-)**

* * *

**Chapter twenty seven**

Thorin quirked an eyebrow and turned to follow Frerin's stare. His sister had just entered the hall, and beside her was Lífa. Thorin managed to keep his own mouth shut, but he was stunned. He had always thought Lífa very attractive, but tonight she looked absolutely beautiful. As they made their way to the head table, Thorin openly stared, and drank in the sight of her.

She was stunning. The dress highlighted her shape beautifully. Her waist looked small and her cleavage looked... incredible. Feeling his heart race and heat flood his body, Thorin swallowed hard and determined not to look back at her breasts if he could possibly help it.

As Lífa came closer, Thorin studied her face. Much of her hair was pulled back in a multitude of traditional dwarven plaits, exposing completely the smooth, pale skin of her face. The green fabric of the dress accentuated the blue of her eyes, which were fixed on him. Her pink lips pulled up slightly into a shy smile as he met her gaze, and an attractive blush washed her cheeks.

Aware that the other males at the table were already on their feet, Thorin quickly stood as Lífa and Dis arrived at the table, inadvertently knocking his chair to the floor in the process. With his heart beating so loudly in his chest, Thorin had not been aware that the raucous conversation in the hall had largely ceased. Most eyes were on Lífa and the majority looked admiring. Thorin's chair made an enormous bang on the wooden floor in the relative silence.

Thorin lowered his head to cover his discomfiture and saw Ragna wince out the corner of his eye. By the time he had picked up his chair and seated himself again, Lífa had settled in her chair, directly across from him.

When he made eye contact with her again, he saw she was grinning widely. "Well" she said, raising her eyebrows, "that must have been embarrassing."

Ignoring the initial spark of anger, he shrugged at her. "I couldn't help it. You look absolutely beautiful." As Thrain and Frerin made similar comments to Lífa, Thorin's eyes strayed to the nearby table which held his friends. Dwalin and Balin were both laughing at him. As Thorin glared at them, Dwalin mouthed the word "smooth" and gave him the thumbs up. Balin elbowed his brother, but did not stop laughing.

Thorin looked away from them and back to Lífa. She was already engaging Thrain in conversation. As food was placed along the middle of the table, Thorin listened raptly as Lífa actually raised a laugh from his father. She was telling him the story of her attempt to tame a wolf to keep as a pet. Thorin didn't laugh, because Lífa had told him the story already, and she had explained that she had only been so foolish because she was incredibly lonely - but he did appreciate her bringing a smile back to Thrain's face.

* * *

It seemed to Lífa that every time she looked up from her food, Thorin was staring at her – a wide smile on his face. Invariably, she looked away first - she wanted to remember the smile and was afraid of seeing something other than affection in his eyes. She had been mortified at the thought of crossing the crowded hall with most of the guests already seated and looking at her, so she had dragged Dis around the edge of the room. Her plan hadn't been a complete success, though it had been a comfort to her to focus on Thorin and ignore the stares of the other dwarves in favour of his apparently rapt gaze. It seemed that her new look had made an impression on him.

She was not able to resist poking a little fun at Thorin after the chair incident, but immediately afterwards had sought to converse with others at the table, desperate to avoid a situation where Thorin might raise the subject of her departure. Lífa had not quite managed to tell Frerin or Dis that she was leaving and she did not wish to embarrass the royal family by prompting a scene in front of all their people. However, having spoken with Thrain, Ragna, Frerin and Dis, it would have been suspicious had she not chatted with the prince.

She cleared her throat. "You look very nice tonight" she told him, with what she hoped was a friendly smile. Thorin put his cup down and looked around him. The other members of his family were engaged in conversation, so he leaned forward and said quietly "I have never seen a more gorgeous creature in all of my life. Promise me you will dance with me later."

Lífa had forgotten how seductive his voice could be. Between the rumble of his voice and the pull of his stunning blue eyes, she felt the sights and sounds of the rest of the hall rapidly fade into the background. There was only him. She leaned forward towards him, her lips parting slightly.

Thorin was in danger of reaching across the table, picking Lífa up and kissing her when his father elbowed him vigorously enough that he dropped his fork with a clatter.

"Do you mind?" Thrain asked. "Some of us are trying to enjoy our food. Surely you can pick this up later."

Thorin was appalled. He turned to his father to find Thrain grinning widely at him. Thrain looked across at Lífa, who was now blushing furiously, and gave her a wink, before turning to the official sitting next to him and beginning a discussion about a recently-discovered vein of gold in the mountain.

Thorin smiled apologetically at Lífa, before enquiring after the gem at her neck. It was a mistake, of course. He immediately looked at her breasts and was initially unable to look away. He fumbled for his cup of ale and was amused to see Lífa doing the same.

* * *

As ale and wine assisted in easing the tensions at the head table, the conversation started up in earnest and Lífa found she was able to relax enough to actually eat some food. She observed that, with the exception of Ragna and Thrain, most of the dwarves seated at the head table got up throughout the meal and the drinks afterwards to sit and talk with dwarves at other tables. Lífa plucked up the courage to stand, excused herself and carefully made her way over to where Dwalin and Balin were sitting.

As the dwarves across from them stopped talking to stare at Lífa, Dwalin and Balin turned to her. Balin beamed at her. "You look wonderful this evening, lassie" he said.

"Aye" said Dwalin "and though it's strange seeing you in a dress, I'll admit that you fill it – I mean, you _wear_ it well."

Lífa frowned at him, as Balin gave him a not-very-subtle kick under the table, then she smiled. "I know - I feel like my chest preceded me into the room tonight by a couple of minutes."

They both laughed and moved aside so that there was room for her to sit between them on the bench seat. Lífa went to climb over and realised her mistake. She was wearing a dress. The only way to get over the seat would be to lift her skirts up to at least knee height. She glanced over at the head table, determined to sit with her friends so long as she did not have to scandalise Thrain or Ragna. Thorin was watching her, but his parents were not. Lífa hesitated and, as she did so, she felt strong arms grab her around the waist and lift her. She gave a little squeak of fright as Dwalin spun her around and dropped her somewhat unceremoniously on the seat beside him. He turned back to his food, but she could see he was grinning.

"Thanks Dwalin" she said sarcastically "That could have been really embarrassing for me."

Balin introduced her to the surrounding dwarves that she did not already know and she soon forgot her fitted dress, exposed cleavage, and braided hair, as she laughed and talked with them.

As Thorin slowly unclenched his fists, he felt the blood rushing back into his compressed palms and fingertips. He knew it was ridiculous to respond like that. Dwalin was his friend and, Thorin supposed, he was Lífa's friend too. He was just being Dwalin – he saw a solution to a problem and he did it. But when he had touched Lífa, Thorin felt a rage rising up inside him that threatened to immediately propel him into action.

Thorin took a long, slow drink as he worked to calm himself. Why did he feel like that? It wasn't a reasonable reaction. Only a third of dwarven babies were female, so women were treasured and protected in dwarven society. It was not unusual for a dwarf to feel possessive of his mate. But Lífa was not Thorin's mate.

It occurred to Thorin that that might be the problem - the uncertainty. He was confident of his own feelings but he did not know how Lífa felt. Indeed, the last indication he had was that she was leaving Erebor, so she obviously did not care for him as he cared for her. He felt nerves and apprehension prick at his good mood.

No, he thought to himself. This could be my last night in her company and, if it is, I want to remember it as a night of happiness and fun. I want her lovely smile and her infectious laugh etched on my memory forever. He excused himself to his mother and joined Lífa and his friends at their table.

* * *

Lífa, having learned painfully from past experience, was careful not to keep up with the alcohol intake of the male dwarves around her. Their table was getting louder and louder and, despite the reminder provided by her restrictive and very feminine outfit, she was having trouble keeping her own voice and laughter at a ladylike level.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Dis standing behind her, scowling.

"You've been over here with all these" she gestured vaguely around the table "men, for ages. Come back and talk to me."

"Of course, Princess Dis. I was just thinking that I was missing your company. The dwarves at this table don't smell very nice." She added in a whisper, loud enough that Dwalin, Balin and Thorin could hear.

This time Balin got up from the seat so that Lífa could swivel her legs around and stand up. As she followed Dis she hoped that that had looked more dignified than her attempt to sit down.

Thorin watched Lífa return to the head table with her arm around his sister. They sat together and, after a time, Dis laid her head on Lífa's shoulder. He smiled. He realised he was not prepared to wait any longer. Thorin got up and went to speak to the musicians - it was time to move on to the next part of the evening.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter twenty eight**

Lífa smiled as Dis finally gave in to sleep and slid from her shoulder to lie in her lap. She reached down and stroked the girl's hair. Could she really leave her? And Frerin? And Balin and Dwalin? Even Thrain had smiled and laughed with her this evening. Lífa felt a rush of happiness as she recalled the joy on Thorin's face as he watched his father behave normally. This place felt like home to her. And these people like family.

She turned to the table where she had last seen Thorin. He was not there.

Lífa could not hide her disappointment when she scanned the hall and could see no sign of Thorin. She had hoped that, perhaps, they might have one last quiet conversation together. Even a last embrace, as friends.

One of Dis' attendants came and removed the sleeping princess and, as Lífa watched the bright yellow gown disappear from the hall, tears came to her eyes.

A din erupted behind her and she turned to see dwarves moving tables and benches to create a sizeable clear space for dancing. Musicians began to tune their instruments and the diners remaining in the hall turned to focus their attention that way.

Lífa slowly stood. It appeared that a party was about to begin, and she very much wanted to stay and enjoy the music and merriment. However, she was not a proficient dancer, having never really been taught, and Thorin had made it clear that he wanted her to dance with him. She did not relish the idea of making a fool of herself, and the prince, in front of an audience. It was possible that Thorin had already left, but Lífa decided she would not take the chance, and she made to discreetly exit the hall.

As she turned, she almost walked directly into Thorin, who, having done the task he left the hall to complete, had approached her from the main entrance.

"Where do you think you are going?" he asked her, smiling.

Lífa decided that, on balance, her best chance now of avoiding the dance floor was to be honest.

"I was leaving. I can't dance and I don't really want to prove that to a hall full of dwarves," she said, blushing slightly.

"Ah," Thorin said, "It is lucky, then, that I am an excellent dancer." He offered her his arm and, when she hesitated to take it, he leaned closer and said "I would never do anything to embarrass you, Lífa. I promise."

She smiled at him and took his arm, as he led her towards the middle of the room. The music had started and several couples and groups were already dancing. Lífa observed a raucous knot of males, arms around each other's shoulders, stumbling around and singing drunkenly along with the music, and she was relieved that Thorin gave them a wide berth.

Thorin positioned himself and Lífa near the middle of the existing dancers and, clasping one of her hands in his, placed his other arm firmly around her waist, pulling her close. Lífa was unable to prevent herself from trembling slightly. She was nervous about dancing but, more than that, being pressed again to Thorin's body was making her feel giddy. She was grateful he held her so tightly.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," Lífa replied.

"Very well then," he said, "just follow me. I will guide you. Relax."

Before she could take another breath to protest, Thorin had swept her up and begun leading her around in a smooth, but spirited dance. After several seconds Lífa realised Thorin was right – she did not need to worry. He was almost holding her off the ground. Lífa thought of herself as quite clumsy, but even she could not trip when held securely in such strong, careful arms. She began to relax and enjoy herself, and she smiled as she saw other dwarves performing the same dance.

Thorin swept her in a rapid circle around him and she gave a joyful laugh. She was actually having fun.

When Thorin finally stopped swinging and twirling her around the dance floor, they were both gasping for breath and laughing. The dances had changed, so Lífa assumed that the music must also have stopped and begun anew, but she could not recall any break.

"You must need a rest," Lífa said, "You have been practically carrying me!"

"I could do this all night" Thorin assured her. While they were dancing, she had been looking at the musicians, the other dancers, and the dwarves watching the fun - as well as at Thorin, as he spun her around. Now that her feet were firmly on the ground again, she was able to focus on his face, and his seductive eyes drew her in. Once again, the activity in the hall faded into the background as her awareness centred entirely on the dwarf holding her close to his chest.

Thorin was entirely caught in the moment. His parents, his friends and his people were forgotten as he lifted his left hand from Lífa's waist, replacing it with his right. He raised his hand to her face and reached behind her ear to grasp a small braid between his finger and thumb.

As he looked into Lífa's eyes, he asked her quietly, his voice low and tender, "Do you know what this braid symbolises?"

Lífa blinked and, with some effort, shifted her focus from the feel of his body against hers, to the thin braid Thorin was running between his fingers.

"Ah, no, Beyla didn't tell me and it did not occur to me to ask."

With a quick flick of his thumb, Thorin removed the bead from the end of the braid, and then his fingers nimbly unravelled it. He gently gripped the unbound lock of hair and raised it to his lips, slowly letting it spill from his grip to rest on her shoulder.

"Oh," Lífa said, her voice unsteady. "I'm not sure that Dis will be very pleased with you. She and Beyla seemed quite pleased with their efforts at taming my hair."

She suddenly realised the hall had gone almost completely silent. She tore her eyes from Thorin to look around. Most eyes were on them and the expression on the faces of the dwarves around them seemed almost universally be one of shock. Lífa felt panic begin to rise within her. She had no idea what she had done wrong. She frantically searched the crowd for a friendly face. Her eyes finally met those of Frerin, who was grinning widely. Balin and Dwalin, sitting alongside him, were also smiling at her. Balin winked at her and Lífa let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. She turned back to Thorin.

Thorin was looking over Lífa's head at his parents, still seated at the head table. His father's face was set in a peaceful, drunken grin, as he delicately picked at the roast meat in front of him, but his mother wore an expression of cold fury. Thorin was surprised to realise he did not care.

He looked down at Lífa and said, "Shall we go to the gates and get some fresh air?"

Lífa thought that was an odd suggestion from a dwarf who lived his life inside a mountain, but she was quick to agree. Anything to get away from the weighty stares of a couple of hundred dwarves.

She smiled shyly as Thorin took her hand in his, and led her towards the entrance to the mountain kingdom. On either side of the great gates were wide walkways that gave a clear view down the mountainside to the city of Dale. Guards were positioned at regular intervals and they acknowledged Thorin with a respectful nod as he walked with Lífa, to the left of the gates.

Lífa wanted to ask Thorin about the sudden silence in the hall. She suspected it had to do with their dancing. Perhaps they had danced too close, or too long. Or perhaps it was to do with the braid he had undone. But something stopped her from asking. What if the answer was not one she would welcome?

She gently removed her hand from Thorin's and went to lean on the balustrade, looking out into the darkness. When Thorin came to stand quietly beside her, Lífa was reminded of something she had been meaning to ask him. She turned to him.

"Where are the other openings? In the mountain, I mean. I have only ever used this one."

Thorin looked confused for a moment, before his face cleared and he said, "There are none. There is no need. Indeed, it is more secure to have this one entrance – it is well-guarded at all times and any approaching threat would be able to be seen from a significant distance." His face bore a proud smile. "This is the most secure kingdom in Middle Earth" he said quietly.

Lífa frowned. She agreed that it would be hard for an attacking enemy to get in, but what if Thror's people needed to get out? It had not occurred to her that there might only be one way in and out of the mountain. As someone who had lived most of their life above ground, she found that a chilling thought, and she shivered violently.

Thorin looked down at Lífa to see her frowning, and shivering.

"I should not have bought you out here without a cloak" he said. "I forget that you are not a – that you are partly human. Dwarves do not feel the cold so easily. Are you cold? Shall we go back inside?"

Lífa was cold, but she desperately did not want to re-enter the hall.

"I would like to stay out here for a time, if that is alright?" she replied.

"Of course," said Thorin, "but I will go inside and fetch you a cloak. I will return shortly."

Lífa turned her head to watch him leave, a feeling of contentment warming her from the inside. He was being so kind and attentive. She tried hard not to read too much into his actions, but she was curious. How could she reconcile this affectionate, devoted dwarf with the one who had coldly wished her well last night?

She sighed deeply as she turned to gaze up at the night sky and visibly jumped when a voice said, "Goodness me, young lady, you must be absolutely freezing out here."

Lífa turned quickly to see Ragna approaching her, and she swallowed against the unreasonable feeling of dread that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter posted. Truthfully, I have been dreading sharing this one with you. I'm a bit fearful of your anger (albeit directed at Ragna), and I have messed with Tolkien's timeline here too.**

**Still - best I just go ahead and get it over and done with! Here goes:**

* * *

**Chapter twenty nine**

Ragna came to stand next to Lífa, and looked out towards the patchy light coming from the city of Dale.

"My dear Lífa," she began, "I'm afraid you and I must have a serious discussion."

Lífa simply nodded, hoping that Ragna could see her head moving. She did not trust herself to speak. Her face coloured in the moonlight as she recalled the compromising position Thorin's mother had caught them in the night before.

"You seem to me to be a sensible girl, so I am confident that you will understand that I am speaking from obligation. My personal feelings do not come into it."

Ragna cleared her throat delicately and continued. "My son is heir to the throne of Erebor. His duty is to protect our Kingdom and lead our people. He must provide stability and security for our people, by marrying and producing an heir of his own, to guarantee to those who dwell in Erebor the ongoing protection of the line of Durin."

Ragna turned now, to look directly at Lífa. "I believe that my son is in love with you, Lífa, and I think that you are in love with him."

Lífa lowered her eyes. She allowed herself a small hope. Perhaps this conversation was not going where she had assumed it was. Perhaps Thorin's mother was simply ensuring that Lífa was truly committed to Thorin, and the people of Erebor.

Ragna stepped closer to Lífa, forcing the girl to look at her again. "I am sorry to bring up what must be a painful memory for you, but I understand that your mother died in childbirth – is that correct?"

Lífa nodded slowly, confused.

"Dwarf/human pairings are not unheard of, Lífa, but they are very unusual. One of the reasons for this is that we dwarves have large babies. Too large for a human woman to birth successfully. I think it likely that that was why your mother died. This has also occurred to you, has it not?"

Lífa could not answer. She was devastated. A huge sob escaped her and she slapped her hand over her mouth to try and stifle any more.

"Lífa, it is very unlikely that you would be able to successfully bear Thorin an heir."

Ragna found the girl's pain difficult to watch, but she reminded herself she was doing the right thing for her people.

"And there is the matter of the opinion of our people. At the moment, the dwarves of Erebor are still very grateful that you saved the lives of Durin's heirs. They are fascinated by you. They see you as a hero, and a novelty. But, Lífa, they do not see you as a Queen."

Silent tears streamed down Lífa's face as Ragna spoke. How could she have thought that Ragna and Thrain might approve of her?

"I think you saw the looks on the faces of our people when Thorin so – so _publicly_ removed your braid tonight. They were expressions of disapproval. Our people would see a pairing with a human as a rejection of dwarven culture and traditions. Such a situation would lead to disharmony and ill fortune for the people of Erebor, and for our family."

Ragna reached out and grasped both of Lífa's cold hands in her own warm ones. "Lífa, Thorin is too in love to see that choosing you is a mistake. You must make the choice for him. He is not yet sure of your feelings for him. Convince him that you do not care for him as he cares for you. He will be hurt, initially, but he will recover, he will fall in love with a dwarf and he will marry wisely – for the benefit of us all. I know that you are not a leader, you are not royalty – but I believe you understand duty and responsibility nonetheless."

Lífa raised her head again and forced herself to look down and meet the gaze of the dwarven woman standing before her. She pulled her hands away and clenched them in fists at her sides. When Ragna had touched on the possibility of infighting in Erebor and a threat to Thorin's family, Lífa had been all but convinced. But Ragna's suggestion that only royalty understand duty and responsibility had touched a very raw nerve.

"I understand perfectly well" Lífa said, in a cold, steady voice, "Though growing up I did not learn anything about duty and responsibility from royalty. The 'royalty' in my life taught me disappointment, negligence and shame. What I learned of noble traits I learned from the simple, humble folk who loved me, and I will always be more proud of that part of my heritage than of any royal blood that happens to run through my veins."

Lífa glared down at Ragna, wondering if she caught the reference. Thorin's mother was sharp - there was no way she had missed it. She obviously just didn't know what to say. Lífa supposed that must be a first for her.

After what seemed like a very long, uncomfortable silence, Ragna composed herself, swallowed and asked, "What do you mean by 'royal blood'?"

"I am referring to my father," Lífa replied coolly. "He was then Prince, but he is now King – Dain of the Iron Hills."

* * *

**Please review - am feeling all insecure! Also having terrible writers block at the moment (and am only about 3 chapters ahead of this one). Need some inspiration!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: A big thank you to those who reviewed my last chapter. I really appreciate it. My writer's block is not yet cured, but I'm working on it. I'm still a couple of chapters ahead.**

**Do keep reviewing if you can. My story now has over 100 reviews (and all positive)! I can hardly believe it. You wonderful people, you.**

* * *

**Chapter thirty**

There was a part of Lífa that enjoyed the look of shock on Ragna's face as she backed slowly away and left her, but the feeling of grim satisfaction was easily overcome by grief and dread when Ragna was gone.

Bitter tears pooled in her eyes and she roughly wiped them away as she turned back to look down at the friendly silhouettes of Dale.

Thorin almost ran out onto the balcony, and had draped a heavy, warm cloak over her shoulders before Lífa had even had the opportunity to turn towards him.

"I apologise for taking so long. For some reason nearly every official in the kingdom insisted on speaking with me as I made my way back here," he grumbled.

He stood behind Lífa, holding the cloak around her waist with his arms, pulling her back against his body and leaning down to rest his chin on her shoulder. Thorin sighed happily. He was nervous at the prospect of explaining the braid to Lífa, but it had been such a wonderful evening that he allowed himself to entertain the hope that he might change her mind about leaving. But not yet. For the moment, he just wanted to enjoy the sensation of his arms around her, and the feeling of her soft skin against his own bearded face.

Lífa closed her eyes and leaned back against the only man she had ever loved. She would do as Ragna requested – not for Ragna, but for Dis, Frerin, Balin, Dwalin, and the dwarves of Erebor. And, yes, for Thorin. But she would not do it yet.

They stood together at the gates of Erebor for a long while, until Thorin could no longer ignore the crick that had developed in his neck. He straightened up and gently turned Lífa towards him. He saw immediately that she had been crying, but he was somewhat overwhelmed by emotion himself, so he was not surprised.

Thorin wanted to tell Lífa about the braid before they spoke about anything else. He saw her opening her mouth to speak and he leaned down and stopped her with a kiss. Her eyes closed and she moaned quietly as she returned his kiss more passionately, raising her arms to wrap them about his neck, and moulding her body more closely to his. Thorin groaned as he resisted the overpowering desire to pick her up and carry her to his chambers. He removed her arms from around his neck and pulled back from the kiss, chuckling at her disappointed frown.

"Lífa – I need to... I want to explain to you about this." He reached up and tangled his fingers in the loose lock of hair behind her ear.

"Braids have great significance in dwarven culture. The braid that was here, that I undid, it is a braid traditionally worn by dwarven females who are not courting – who are not in a relationship. The custom is for a dwarf who wishes to court a dwarven maiden to ask her if she will accept his suit. If she does, he unbinds this braid. Usually, when they have courted for some time and they are sure of their feelings for one another and ready to commit, he braids it again – using a style or a piece of decoration that is unique to him or to his family." Thorin swallowed nervously.

"It is not something that dwarves do lightly. It is a pledge. A promise." Thorin's voice cracked a little on the last words, and he reached down to take Lífa's hands in his.

"Lífa," he said, his voice full of feeling, "I, Thorin, son of Thrain, wish to court you. I love you, Lífa."

Lífa was utterly immobile. How could this be happening? Thorin loved her. The man she loved just told her he loved her too. This should be the happiest moment of her life. But, instead, her heart was breaking and, shortly, she would have to break his too. She should have stopped him from speaking and said what she needed to say. She could have protected him from this moment. Lífa wanted to selfishly bask for just another minute in his adoration, but she knew she needed to do this quickly.

At Lífa's lack of response, Thorin's face was beginning, slowly, to fall. A small frown line appeared between his eyebrows.

"Lífa?" he said hesitantly.

Lífa took a big breath. "Thorin – thank for your offer. I am humbled and honoured. I know of no better man than you in all of Middle Earth. But I'm afraid I...," Here she faltered, at the beginning of her terrible lie. "I do not feel the same way. I am sorry."

With every ounce of strength she had, Lífa removed her hands from Thorin's and stepped back. She could not resist one last glimpse at his face and it was contorted with confusion and grief. A physical pain pierced her chest. She flinched and, before she could change her mind, she turned and walked unsteadily back into the mountain.

Lífa was aware of only dull sounds around her, as if she were hearing the noises of Erebor from under water. Taking the quickest route back to her chambers, she made her way into the dining hall. She was halfway across the hall before she dimly noticed that the fifty or so dwarves who remained at the festivities had got to their feet. With a flush of anger, she turned to look at them. She refused to be ashamed of either her mixed heritage or her relationship with Thorin, albeit over now.

Lífa had sacrificed her happiness, and that of their prince, for the future and wellbeing of these very dwarves. As she walked past them, defiantly meeting their gazes, they lowered their heads – some giving her a small smile before they did so. Balin and Dwalin were among the last dwarves Lífa passed. They did not bow their heads. They both ran to her and hugged her - Dwalin squeezing her so hard she had to squeak for mercy.

"What is going on?" she managed to ask.

"What do you mean, lass?" asked Balin. "We're just happy, is all. We're delighted. To see Thorin happy..." He teared up slightly and ducked his head.

The ache in Lífa's chest intensified. She would also be disappointing her friends, and that hurt too.

"I mean – why did the other dwarves look down as I walked past them?" Lífa asked dully.

"Respect" said Dwalin, as if it was completely obvious.

"Our Prince is courting you, Lífa girl" said Balin. "That makes you royalty. This is the first opportunity they have had to pay their respects to you since they learned of your courtship, so they do this now – to show their acceptance and loyalty."

Lífa was stunned. "Acceptance?" she asked, almost inaudibly.

"Aye, acceptance" said Dwalin.

Respect? It had not occurred to Lífa but, considering it now, it was obvious. They were bowing their heads to her. Lífa was confused, and only barely holding her own grief within her.

"What is wrong, lass?" asked Balin. "You look upset. I know it probably seems like a bit much, but it is a dwarven custom. It is important." He smiled kindly at Lífa, though he was puzzled by her reaction, and by Thorin's absence.

He began to ask where Thorin was, when Lífa said "I am fine – just very tired. I will see you tomorrow."

She shuffled along the corridor, her mind full of the image of dozens of Durin's folk bowing their heads – to her.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Hello to all of you, and to all of you my profound apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. It has actually been written for some time - I just hadn't been ready to post it. I'm afraid I am still stuck on Chapter 33 (yes, that's right, I only have one more chapter written after this one!) and that was making me reluctant to put one of my remaining chapters up here. **

**But today I made some progress (of a sort) and it has inspired me to get this chapter to you. As always, enjoy - and please review if you are able. You never know - it could be _your_ review that inspires me to get going again!**

* * *

**Chapter thirty one**

As Lífa burst into her room, she realised she was still wearing Thorin's cloak. She spread it over her bed and lay down on it, burying her face into the fur cape covering the neck and shoulders. She smiled sadly as she breathed in the smell of him – a mixture of leather, metal, aromatic smoke and his own wonderful scent. Tears flowed from her eyes as she ran her fingers through the soft fur.

She was so tired. So desperate to sleep. All she needed to do was nod off and, in the morning, it would all be arranged. Thorin would no doubt avoid her until she left Erebor. Ragna would certainly help her with whatever supplies she needed, in order to facilitate her prompt departure. This was the easiest way. Just to let go, and escape her pain in sleep.

_No_. Lífa groaned and rolled herself off the edge of the bed onto the floor, grunting in discomfort as she hit the cool stone. The easiest way was not the correct way – not tonight. Something didn't feel right. She needed to stay awake – at least for a little longer – and think.

As she drew herself into a sitting position beside the bed, she squirmed as the hard strips began to dig into her at the top and bottom of the corset portion of the dress. After several minutes of struggling and contorting her body into awkward positions as she rolled around the floor, Lífa came to the realisation that she was not going to be able to release herself from the dress without assistance.

Sitting up again, she noticed something in the corner of her room throwing back a shaky reflection of the candlelight. She stood slowly, steadying herself on the bed, and walked over to the chair in the corner. A bulky bundle wrapped in beautiful silver fabric lay there, and a note sat on top.

Lífa picked up the note and stood close to a candle to read. It was written in a beautiful hand:

_My dear Lífa_

_May this armour and this sword keep you safe and protected, as I shall endeavour to do, for all of my days._

_You have my heart,_

_Thorin_

Suddenly energised, Lífa dropped the note and ran back to the chair. She quickly pulled away the fabric to reveal a stack of beautifully crafted pieces of armour. The main piece comprised breast and back plates, with attached faulds and spaulders. In places the steel was layered in small plates and sections designed to move with the body, and it was lightly decorated with designs that Lífa recognised as similar to those on Thorin's clothing. She ran her fingers over the motifs before lifting the armour to reveal a short-sleeved chain mail tunic. Beneath this rested a pair of vambraces and a helm.

Lifting each piece in turn, Lífa was astounded by the exceptional craftsmanship. Remembering the ill-fitting armour she had previously worn, she slipped the chain mail over her head. It fitted her perfectly, as did the main piece of armour that encased her torso. Lífa moved to stand in front of the mirror and marvelled at the sight. While she had not fastened the armour, it was clear that it had been made specifically for her. It fit her frame – narrower and taller than most dwarves – but left her room to move comfortably.

Lífa tried on the vambraces and the helm and each piece was of the same outstanding quality and remarkable fit. She spun in place, astonished by the lack of weight. The armour did not feel like a necessary burden, but a natural extension of her own body. She had never worn anything like it.

As Lífa spun, she knocked the chair and heard the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the stone floor. On the ground beside the chair, having obviously been resting upright against it before she knocked it over, was a sword belt. Squealing with childlike delight, Lífa shrugged off her armour and picked it up. She fastened the belt around her waist and paused for a moment – closing her eyes and enjoying the weight of the sword at her hip.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she slowly pulled the sword free, her hand trembling with excitement. The magnificent weapon sung as she drew it forth and the blade ran through the scabbard. Lífa held it in front of her, staring down the length of the blade. While the hilt was heavily decorated with dwarven runes and symbols, it was slim and fit comfortably in her hand. She swung the sword around her body. Her feet moving forward, she smiled as she pictured Dwalin backpedalling to escape her reach. The blade itself was smooth and without decoration – flawlessly shaped and balanced, and perfectly weighted for her.

Lífa had never received such a generous and personal gift in all her life. Thorin had organised this for her. He had noticed that neither her armour nor her sword were designed for or fitted to her, and he had requested that these beautiful items be created – for her.

Tears came to Lífa's eyes and grief rose within her again, as she realised that she wanted to share this moment with him. With the dwarf she loved. But she could not – because she could not give him what he needed in order to successfully and safely rule his Kingdom: the respect of his people, and an heir to the throne.

But some part of her rebelled against that thought. _Was_ it actually impossible for her to bear Thorin an heir? Surely Svala, having observed their budding feelings for each other, would have pointed out to her the dangers of such a union – if those dangers existed? Lífa walked to the mirror and stared at her reflection. As a half-dwarf, she was considerably bigger than her own mother. Her frame was wider and her body more solid. She frowned. When she was with Thorin it didn't feel like they were of two different races. They were close in height and, though he was much stronger and more muscled than her, their builds were not dissimilar. Being with him felt so right to her. Physically, how could it be wrong?

And could she not earn the respect of the dwarves of Erebor, given the opportunity to do so? Again she thought of the scene in the dining hall that evening. Those dwarves had bowed their heads in respect to her, and she was not walking with their Prince at the time.

She turned to look at her gifts. A dwarf had fashioned this armour for her. A dwarf had crafted this sword. Did they take such care and produce such beautiful, accomplished work solely because it was commissioned by their Prince, or were they also showing respect for her?

Lífa smiled as she turned back to the mirror. She knew what to do.

She had been alone for much of her life – she had felt unwanted and rejected. Here, in Erebor, she had experienced acceptance and friendship - and the love of a wonderful dwarf. She would not leave on the direction of Thorin's mother. She would put Ragna's arguments to Thorin, as calmly as she could, and she would hear his opinion. Ragna underestimated Thorin and his dedication to his people. If he felt that being with Lífa was the wrong thing for Erebor, then he would make his decision accordingly. And Lífa would accept it.

She took a deep breath and left her room, walking quickly in the direction of Thorin's chambers.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter thirty two**

Thorin stood in the middle of his room, shoulders slumped, and told himself he had done the right thing. He had not been sure of Lífa's feelings, so there was always a risk that it would end like this, but it was worth finding out. He gently shook his head. He did not regret anything – the dancing, the braid, the gift, the note, or the confession of his feelings. He knew now and, while the knowledge was painful, it was preferable to uncertainty and worry. Or, at least, he told himself that it was.

He pulled off his tunic and trousers and sat on the edge of his bed in his undershirt and braies. It was likely that Lífa would go ahead with her plan to leave Erebor tomorrow. Thorin knew he should feel relieved that he would not have to see her again, but he didn't. Even though it would likely cause him pain, he would put up with that kind of hurt forever if it meant he still had the opportunity to look at, and speak with, her every day.

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

Tiredness and physical exhaustion were beginning to overpower him when there was a sudden knock at his door.

Thorin turned to look at the door and saw that he had neglected to lock it. He sighed. He would very much like to ignore the knocking, but there were too many people of his acquaintance who would simply open it and come in if he did so.

He muttered under his breath as he approached the door, ready to let loose his anger on Dwalin, Balin, Frerin or Ragna – the most likely candidates at this hour of the night.

Thorin threw open the door with a scowl already set on his face, and he was shocked to see Lífa standing in the hallway. She had not changed out of her formal clothes and Thorin almost smiled when he saw that she wore the sword and scabbard over her elegant dress.

Lífa had been silently rehearsing what she would say to Thorin during her short walk to his chambers, and she wanted to get the words out before his presence, inevitably, distracted her. Before he had even had the chance to invite her in or step to one side, Lífa slipped past Thorin and turned to face him again.

She was too focussed on her speech to notice the puzzled frown on his face, as she reached past him to push his door closed. Taking a couple of steps back, Lífa looked up at him, focussed on a point between his eyebrows and began to speak:

"Thorin, I have to talk with you. I apologise that I have come to see you so late at night, but this is urgent. Please do not get angry, and please allow me to finish what I have to say." Lífa briefly paused before continuing to speak – careful to hold her voice steady and keep her tone as neutral as possible.

"It has been obvious to me for some time that your mother does not approve of me – or, rather, that she does not approve of the prospect of you and I being together. This evening, when you went to fetch me a cloak, she came out to the gates to speak with me. She made her position very clear, and she explained why she believed she was right. Thorin, your mother is concerned that it would be bad for Erebor and for your family if you were to commit to - if you were to choose me. She said that the dwarves of Erebor would not accept a half-human Queen, and that that would make the position of your family difficult – perhaps untenable. She also pointed out that -" Lífa could not help but stop and take a shaky breath as she fought to control her emotions as her thoughts went again to her own mother, "that I would be unlikely to be able to successfully bear you an heir – thereby threatening the security of the Kingdom and the continuation of Durin's line. She asked me to tell you that I did not care for you. She said it was the right thing for you, for your family and for Erebor. I decided to do as she asked."

Hearing no immediate response, Lífa finally allowed herself to look properly at Thorin's face, and she was shocked at the naked fury of his expression. A nerve twitched near his left eye, and he finally spat out, "WHAT?"

His voice was pure rage and Lífa was suddenly worried he would storm out to confront his mother before she had said the most important thing she had come to say. She reached out and took his arm - firmly pulling him away from the door towards the hearth. She turned them so that she was between Thorin and the door and then slid her hand down his arm, till it rested on his clenched fist. When the fist did not open, she wrapped her hand around it and squeezed gently.

"Thorin, I am so sorry. I am sorry that I listened to your mother without speaking with you. I suppose I have always doubted your feelings for me. It always seemed to me so improbable that someone like you would choose someone – like _me_. I think that your mother's words, they reminded me that I am not - that I do not feel like I am good enough for you. And I am sorry I hurt you and that I ruined that lovely moment out at the gates. But most of all, Thorin, I'm sorry that I lied to you. Because I _did_ lie to you. You said you loved me and I told you I did not feel the same way – that was a lie. I do love you, Thorin."

As she spoke, Lífa could see that Thorin's expression was slowly beginning to soften. She released his hand and took a couple of steps back – not trusting herself to remain within arm's reach of him.

"I have told you before that I believe you are a wonderful leader, and that you will be a great king. I know that you always have the best interests of your people at heart, so I believe this decision should be yours – not your mother's. You have worked so hard and been through so much – you have earned the right to make this choice. I love you, but if you decide that being with me is the wrong thing for Erebor, for your family – for you – then I will accept your decision, and I will leave."

Lífa sighed deeply and waited for Thorin's response. When none came she began to panic – studying his face carefully for signs of what he was feeling. His expression gave very little away. He was perfectly still and, while he was clearly no longer so angry, Lífa could not read any other emotion there either. Her anxiety led her to speak again, this time in a rush, and unrehearsed.

"Thorin, I thought that I needed to leave. To let you choose someone else – someone better. But then I got back to my room and I saw the armour and the sword and they are such wonderful presents and they are perfect for me and no one has ever done something like that for me before and I knew you were the right person for me and I thought maybe – just maybe – _I_ could be the right person for _you_." Lífa's voice faded out with the last of her confidence.

Thorin held himself still, his mind reeling from the onslaught of different emotions. Overwhelming, though, was his passionate relief to hear that Lífa cared for him, and his love and desire for the girl who stood before him, having laid bare to him her own feelings.

Finally, he gave Lífa a small smile. He cleared his throat and said, in a low voice, "I would very much like to come over there and kiss you, Lífa but, given the situation in which you presently find me," he gestured to his clothing, "I am not sure that that would be appropriate. Or wise."

At his gesture, Lífa at last took a proper look at him and noticed that he was clad in only his underwear. She flushed a deep red and began to apologise. "Oh no, I'm so sorry. I should leave. Oh, no - ."

Thorin strode to Lífa and kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her and held her as tightly as he dared. He loved this girl, and he knew that his people would too, given the chance.

* * *

**A/N: Ok - so here's the thing: that was my last one. All the time that I've been posting my story on this site I've been at least 3 or 4 (sometimes up to 8) ****chapters ahead of you guys** - but now you have caught me. Because I'm still all writer's blocked on the next bit. The Thorin/Lífa lovin' stuff. Which, apparently, I suck at. *takes deep breath* Anyhoo - my "beta bestie" is currently reading my draft of Chapter 33, so maybe that will make the cut. If not, I'm about ready to give up (on the 'lovin', not on the story). In the mean time, send me positive vibes - and review! Review like there's no tomorrow, my friends! Review your butts off! Ok - calming down now. I'm ok. I'm good. :-|


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Hello everyone. I'm terribly sorry it has taken me so long to write and then post this chapter. I was all enthusiasm and ideas and creativity when I started writing - PJ was filming pick-ups for the trilogy all of 15 minutes drive from my house, and I guess I felt like my muse was at least nearby (perhaps in the form of various handsome actors). But, as silly as it sounds, it has all been a bit more of a struggle since filming finished over in Miramar and Wellington has been without Hobbity actors ('silly' because I never actually met or even saw any of them). And at no point had this lack of a muse/inspiration been more apparent than in attempting to write this chapter. The writing of sexy times is clearly not my particular gift. However, I have finally finished and had my work checked and improved by my edity friend. So, without further ado or any more apologies - here it is:**

**[Please PLEASE review - I've never been quite so desperate to hear from you all]**

* * *

**Chapter 33**

Lífa stood, eyes closed, and head resting on Thorin's shoulder, enveloped in his strong arms, and wished she could remain there forever. But, after a time, reality intruded and her corset began dig into her again. At first she fought the compulsion to move, but eventually, she was forced to squirm, and Thorin backed away slightly to look at her.

"I am sorry. Was I – was I holding you too tightly?" he asked.

She smiled. As if that was something she would complain about.

"No – it's this - " she tried again to reach around behind her back and catch one end of the laces, "this blasted dress." She sighed in defeat. "I know it's lovely, but it's digging into me now and I just can't wait to get it off."

Thorin stood in front of her, his expression somewhere between amused and fascinated.

Belatedly, Lífa realised what she had said. She reddened slightly, before plucking up the courage to ask him, "Will you help me? Please."

Thorin grinned. "So, you barge into my bedchamber late at night, when I am in my underwear, you tell me that you love me, you raise the issue of whether or not you would be able to give me children, and then you ask me to remove your dress… what am I supposed to think?"

Lífa could not help blushing and she began to formulate a credible denial of any improper intentions when she suddenly realised that she did not want to deny anything.

When Thorin saw her simply smile shyly in answer to his teasing, his grin disappeared. He swallowed slowly as a warmth began to spread from the pit of his stomach.

He stepped back to the door and reached for the latch. As Lífa watched him slide the lock into place, her skin tingled as if his hand was moving over her body and not across the cold metal.

Thorin moved to stand behind her. As he gathered up her hair away from her neck, his hand brushed her ear and the lock of hair that had been bound in a braid behind it. He ran it through his fingers as he quietly spoke into Lífa's ear. "Given what you have just told me, can I assume that you have reconsidered your answer to my request to court you?"

Lífa's eyes closed as a thrill went through her body. "Yes, you can assume that," she said, marvelling at how calm her voice sounded.

Thorin's hands moved to the back of her dress, and he untied and loosened the laces that bound Lífa's body.

Lífa sighed with relief as she was released, and turned to face Thorin. "Thank you," she said.

Thorin gazed at the lovely creature before him, barely covered by her dress, and, with an effort of will, focussed on formalities. "Lífa, about what you said – about what my mother said – I need you to understand something. Being a prince and a leader of my people is not my job – it is part of who I am. That part of me informed my feelings and behaviour as I fell in love with you. What I mean is – I do not think I could have fallen in love with someone who would have been a poor choice as a future Queen of Erebor. I chose you – and I believe I have chosen wisely."

As Lífa beamed happily up at him, Thorin closed the distance between them and, wrapping his arms around her, kissed her passionately. He felt her quickly respond to him, moulding her body to his. Lífa gasped as her mouth allowed Thorin's questing tongue entry, and she felt a familiar throbbing begin at her centre.

Thorin cupped Lífa's face, continuing to explore her mouth with his tongue, before running his hands down her arms and pushing the dress from her body. Lífa pulled back from him as the dress pooled at her feet, suddenly self-conscious in just her short silk slip.

Thorin took a step back to look at her. His gaze took in her heavy-lidded, dark eyes, her slightly swollen lips, and her voluptuous body - much of which was now visible to him.

"Lífa." His voice was low and thick with desire. "Lífa, I must ask you if this is what you want. The tradition is to wait until we are betrothed. I do not want to wait, but I would wait for you."

Thorin held his hands in fists at his sides as he fought the impulse to seize her and kiss and touch every inch of her body.

Lífa moaned as her body continued to respond to him as if he were still actually touching her. She looked down at his bare feet and his naked, muscled calves and suddenly she had to know what the rest of his body looked like. She wanted him too much to wait.

"Yes," she replied unsteadily, "I want this. I want you."

She had barely finished speaking before Thorin had her in his arms again, pushing her back against one of the solid wooden posts at the corner of his bed. His hands were hard on her body as he bent his head to her throat. Lífa sighed as Thorin kissed her in a particularly sensitive spot, just below her ear. Delicious shivers ran through her body as he kissed and nuzzled at her neck, sometimes rough and sometimes almost painfully delicate. Lífa's fingers tangled in his hair, which was surprisingly soft under her frantic touch.

Thorin ran his hand down the silk slip, tracing the contours of her waist and hip, before sliding back up to cup her breast through the soft fabric. Lífa gasped as his rough palm brushed teasingly across her hard nipple, before he grasped her firmly, kneading her soft flesh with a deft hand. Thorin nipped lightly at Lífa's ear as he moved his other hand from behind her neck to caress her other breast.

Suddenly, Lífa had to feel his body against her again and Thorin groaned as she pushed his hands from her breasts and thrust her hips into him. She moaned as she felt his hard arousal against her, some part of her vaguely registering that he felt huge. As they kissed, their mouths devoured each other, and their hands desperately grasped and clutched. Thorin cupped Lífa's rear, pulling her hard against him.

Lífa had never experienced such need in all her life. Her body felt like simply a collection of nerve endings, each of which would tingle and throb when he brushed past it. Her very cells felt alive with desire for him. She was so caught up in longing that she could not pin down even in her thoughts what she wanted, let alone articulate it. As her exploring hands seized the fabric at his back she realised that needed to be closer still to him.

Reluctantly pushing him away, Lífa reached for the lace of his tunic. Pulling at it with desperate, fumbling hands, she loosened the garment before looking up at him and ordering him in as firm a tone as she could manage - "Off." Thorin obeyed, and pulled the tunic over his head, throwing it to one side. He stepped towards Lífa and halted as he saw her hand raised to stop him. With great difficulty Thorin refrained from moving further, as he watched Lífa take in the sight of his body.

Lífa's mouth opened and she wet her lips as she looked at him. She had never seen anyone like Thorin. His upper body was so perfectly muscled that he appeared to have been carved from the very stone of the mountain itself. His chest was covered in a layer of dark hair, which dipped into a V over his abdomen. A line trailed down to disappear under his braies. Thorin heard Lífa's sharp intake of breath as she moved to stand before him and reached out her hands. He felt his skin almost sizzle at her cool touch, as she ran her soft fingers over the planes of his muscles. Lífa marvelled at the heat from his skin, and changed the angle of her hands slightly, so that her fingernails now scratched lightly down his body.

When Thorin groaned, she looked up at him again, and he could read the powerful desire in her eyes. He kissed her again before, to her surprise, kneeling before her. He gently slid his hands up the outside of her legs, and pushed up her slip until his hands rested just below her breasts. His eyes asked permission and Lífa answered him by reaching down and removing the slip herself. Her mind was full only of him and her craving for him - she had forgotten her insecurity, so his concerned expression was a surprise. Thorin growled in the back of his throat as he examined Lífa's scars at close range. The warrior in him considered what weapon was likely to have caused such injuries, and contemplated the pain they must have caused. He looked up and now saw sorrow in Lífa's eyes and his hands tightened on her body involuntarily. He would never allow her to be hurt again.

Lífa watched as he closed his eyes and laid his forehead against her belly. She could not help but worry that the scars were so hideous that he no longer wished to touch her. A cold feeling of panic began to seep through the heat enveloping her body. She twisted slightly in Thorin's hard grasp. As if woken from a daydream, Thorin's face turned quickly up towards her. This time he only saw her soft, pale skin and the lush swell of her breasts, and his eyes again darkened with passion. Dipping his face to her stomach, he kissed the line of each scar, while his hands gently stroked her sides where he had clutched her. Lífa was surprised that the sensation was so erotic.

She tilted her head back to rest against the bed post, eyes closed, while she relished the sensation of his gentle lips on her exposed skin. His hands cupped and tenderly squeezed her rear. Lífa's hands clenched and relaxed in Thorin's hair with the rhythm of his kisses until suddenly his mouth reached the juncture of her thighs. Lífa jumped in his arms and her hands flew to his shoulders, pushing him away.

Thorin looked up at her, taking in her heaving chest and the slight hint of fear in her eyes. Inwardly, he reproached himself for not having taken the time to find out if she had experienced love making before. Slowly, he stood up.

"Relax my love," he said, "I would never hurt you." He could see that she knew that to be true, and her stiff shoulders relaxed slightly. Thorin stepped towards her and reached out his hands to gently cup her face. " Lífa, have you done this before?"

His soothing tone had had an instant effect on Lífa. The sudden tension that had racked her body was gone. She loved and trusted Thorin, and she knew she need never fear him, but her voice still quavered slightly as she answered. "Yes. Once. But he was - we were not in love. It was not like this." She gestured at the air between them, as if indicating a palpable bond of love and trust. "I did not like it" she added softly, her face flushing with embarrassment as she looked down.

Thorin gently wrapped his arms around her, feeling the firm points of her naked breasts press against his own hard, muscled chest as he pulled her close. Lífa gasped as she felt Thorin's hot arousal against her belly and a thrill of anticipation shot up her spine. His hand gently lifted her chin till she looked full into his face. "Oh, you will like this," he growled quietly, "I will see to that."

With that, he swept her up in his arms and moved to lay her gently on the bed.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Well, first an apology. I am so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. I lost my muse. I mean - really lost. But I am determined to get this baby wrapped up before The Desolation of Smaug hits movie theatres, so I'm back on track.**

**I guess I also lost enthusiasm. Thank you to those who have favourited and followed the story during my hiatus - I do appreciate it. But I also got my first not-good review during this time. I was so excited to see that I had received a review - I rushed to read it... and it turned out to be someone pointing out that Dain wasn't King of the Iron Hills yet (at the time my story is set). Well - no kidding sunshine! I told myself I would just let it go, but it seems that I can't. So, there is a little note at the bottom of the page for you, guest called 'kaia'.**

**For the rest of you lovelies (who actually read my disclaimer at the start of chapter 26), here is another chapter. Please do review - they (mostly) encourage me.**

* * *

**Chapter thirty four**

When Lífa woke, late the next day, she knew immediately exactly where she was. Thorin slept behind her - one of his arms lay beneath her head, while the other wrapped around her waist. His legs were tangled with hers and his body was radiating such warmth that she wondered that he actually needed a fire in his room. Thorin's breathing was quiet and even, and Lífa didn't want to move for fear of waking him. She lay in his embrace and contemplated the completely new and entirely wonderful feeling of being utterly, perfectly happy.

This was not the place where she was born or raised. This was not even a place she had visited until a few months ago. But she had never felt such a sense of belonging as she did at this moment. Her home was wherever he was. Thorin was her home.

* * *

Thorin woke, for the first time in months, with a sense that all was well. His body and his mind were relaxed and rested. He smiled as he recalled the reason, and he opened his eyes to see a mass of wavy, copper hair before his face. Moving slowly, so as not to wake her, he dipped his head and breathed in the scent of Lífa's hair, before gently kissing the back of her head.

Lífa immediately turned in his arms and lifted her head to kiss him. "Thorin," she breathed, as her soft lips pressed against his. As she pulled back to look at him he was again struck by how beautiful her smile was. He closed his eyes and briefly gave thanks to the Valar for his good fortune.

"I could get used to waking up like this," he said, releasing Lífa to stretch all his limbs. He gave a contented sigh and reached for her again, pulling her close.

Lífa propped her chin on her hands, rested on Thorin's chest, and gazed down at his face. "Good morning," she said, beaming at him.

Thorin chuckled, "I'm not sure that it is morning anymore."

Lífa felt the rumbling within his body and pressed her ear to his chest to listen more closely to the wonderful sound of his laughter. She raised her head to look at him again. "You should laugh more often, Prince Thorin, the smile and the sound suit you."

"I have not had much cause to laugh lately," he said, "but I think that might all be about to change." He reached up to touch the small plait that was tucked behind her ear, running it through his fingers until they met the silver bead at the end.

Lífa closed her eyes as she relived the wonderful moment late last night or, perhaps, early this morning, when Thorin had put the braid in her hair. They were both spent and lay naked and tangled on his bed. Lífa had no faith in her ability to move any of her limbs, should she need to. Her legs felt like they were made of liquid, and her body seemed to be buzzing slightly. Suddenly Thorin moved, and pulled her up to rest beside him on the pillows. Lífa had managed to open her eyes and give him a contented smile, but that was about the limit of her capability at that time.

She watched him reach up and remove one of the elegant embossed silver beads from his own hair, before he leaned in to softly speak to her. "Lífa, I know we have only just begun courting - but I feel like I have known you all my life, and I have loved you from the moment I met you. Will you do me the honour of becoming my betrothed? Will you marry me?"

For a delicious minute, Lífa's heart had seemed to stop in her chest - freezing her in the perfection and bliss of the moment, before she remembered to breathe, and said "Yes, Thorin. Yes, of course. I love you."

His smile was so full of unabashed delight that it bought tears to her eyes. Her vision was slightly blurred as he plaited her hair, carefully securing the bead at the end of the braid.

As he finished, he leaned back and his rough thumbs brushed from her face the few tears that had escaped her eyes. He cupped her face with his hands and said "I will love you, and only you, forever."

Lífa couldn't speak. She felt that she was so full of joy that she would burst. She reached out her arms for him and he drew her to him, holding her against his chest as he turned and lay back on the bed. Lífa fell asleep listening to the sound of her beloved's heart beat.

As she opened her eyes and returned to the present, Thorin was smiling at her. His own eyes said that he had also been remembering his proposal the previous night.

Lífa lifted her hand to his, lacing her delicate fingers between his large ones. She bought his hand to her lips and kissed him tenderly.

Thorin groaned softly as his body reacted to her delicate touch. Almost lying on top of him, Lífa felt him harden against her side, and as her own body began to throb, she began to slowly move herself against the firm muscles in his leg.

With a sudden movement, Thorin moved on top of her. He kissed his way down her body until he knelt between her legs. She could feel his body taut with desire, as his intense stare took in the luscious curves of her body, and her hooded blue eyes. As his rough hands caressed the tops of her legs, Lífa began to writhe beneath him. Slowly, Thorin lowered his head towards her. His voice was a seductive growl: "No one else will ever see you like this, my glorious, beautiful woman."

As Thorin's face disappeared from her line of sight and she suddenly felt his warm breath at the juncture of her thighs, Lífa shivered in anticipation.

* * *

During the almost two days they spent in bed, Thorin was struck by feelings of guilt at his irresponsibility only once or twice. The first occasion was in the middle of the day following their first night together, when their passion was finally overcome by more simple instincts. While Lífa bathed, Thorin ventured out of his rooms in search of food and drink. He had turned only one corner before he came face to face with Dwalin, whose face immediately split in a wide, wicked grin.

"Missed you at dinner last night, Thorin. And breakfast today. You missed your training session with Onar this morning. My brother and I were beginning to worry that you might be... ill."

Thorin struggled not to smile back at his friend. "Thank you for your concern, Dwalin, but I am well."

Dwalin stood, legs firmly planted, in the centre of the hallway - Thorin would be forced to turn sideways to slip past him.

Thorin sighed. "I slept in. That is all."

"You never sleep in," Dwalin countered.

"Was there something you needed?" Thorin asked.

"Aye, you could say that. You see, we can't find Lífa and we've heard that there was some talk that she might leave Erebor... Obviously, we're concerned for her safety if she has left the mountain alone. Would you like me to take a company and look for her?"

Thorin stood stubbornly silent.

"Are you not worried about her?"

Thorin's frown deepened but he still refused to rise to the bait.

"Or... could it be that you know you don't need to be?"

Thorin's body betrayed him as his stomach let out a loud growl. Dwalin's eyebrows shot up.

"Been working up an appetite?" he asked, and then jumped back out of Thorin's reach, laughing, as the prince's fist moved through the space where his arm had just been.

"Enough," Thorin said. His tone was firm, but his face was smiling. "Enough, Dwalin."

He sighed in resignation. "I... I would see you and Balin, in my study, as soon as you can get him there."

Smirking, Dwalin turned and sauntered away, humming to himself. Thorin shook his head and continued on to the kitchens.

* * *

Having located a loyal and reasonably discreet member of the kitchen staff and organised for regular delivery of meals to his rooms for the time being, all somehow without blushing or showing any discomfort, Thorin headed for his study.

He could hear low voices as he approached the door, but the brothers stopped talking as soon as he entered. Thorin had forgotten that he had moved his desk to the library, so the three friends stood in the unfurnished room and stared at each other.

When neither Balin nor Dwalin spoke, Thorin began. "I do not wish to enter into a long discussion about this, but you are my loyal friends and my most trusted advisors, so it is right that I share this news with you. I have asked Lífa to be my wife, and she has accepted."

Balin's face broke into a delighted grin and he quickly crossed the floor to gather his friend up in a vigorous embrace. "Oh, lad, that's wonderful news. Wonderful. You are good for each other. And you deserve to be happy."

Thorin finally let out a small grunt of discomfort and Balin hastily released him, patting him on the shoulder before backing away, still beaming. Thorin looked over at Dwalin, who had not moved.

His friend's arms were crossed over his chest, and he fought a smile. Finally he stepped up to the prince and clasped his shoulders. "Aye," he said "this is good news. She'll keep you on your toes." He winked indiscreetly and then chuckled. "I'm pleased for you."

Thorin felt the relief before he'd even realised he'd been nervous. "Thank you, my friends" he said. "Of course, my parents - my _mother _especially - are unlikely to give our betrothal such enthusiastic approval." In spite of his happiness, Thorin began to feel the prick of other, more familiar emotions - worry, guilt and anger. "I would ask that you keep this news a secret. I must tell my parents - and the King - myself."

"Of course" said Balin "We will not breathe a word to the rest of your family."

"Aye" Dwalin laughed, "do you think we have a death wish?" When his laughter was met only by uncomfortable silence, he added belatedly, "but, I'm sure they'll be, ah, happy about it." He coughed awkwardly and turned to examine a book.

Thorin raised his eyebrows, before addressing Balin. "I will think of something. My decision is made. I will have no other. Lífa is my choice."

Balin nodded.

Thorin moved toward the door. "Speaking of which, I should return... to check on her." He left the room quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid hearing Dwalin's crude comment, and he winced, smiling, as he walked back down the corridor.

* * *

**A/N: Dear 'guest called kaia'**

**I was pretty disappointed to find that you had read my story and the first and only comment you had to make was to point out an instance (one of them) in which I diverge from Tolkien canon. **

**Firstly, I put a disclaimer at the beginning of chapter 26 that warns of just that. Pertinent sections reproduced below:**

_**In the beginning, I intended to be absolutely true to Tolkien's universe - I would keep to the time line, all of his characters would remain completely in character, and all journeys and locations would be accurate to his maps. However, it quickly became clear that that would not be possible if I wanted to write a story about Thorin falling in love before the fall of Erebor. That is because Thorin was all of about 24 years old when Smaug came - far too young by dwarf reckoning for his parents to be forcing him to choose a mate. That was the first of my little accuracy failures.**_

After that, they came thick and fast. I played fast and loose with the ages of Dwalin, Balin, Frerin and Dis, so as to fit them in to my story. [I have also done this with other Tolkien dwarves whom you have not yet met in my story - but you'll know them when you do]. I advanced Thror's gold sickness and gave Thrain a bit of a dose too. I invented towns, and moved mountains, rivers and forests to suit my plot.

**Now**** that I have written more, it should be clear that the "other Tolkien dwarves whom you have not yet met in my story" refers to, among others, Dain. **

**Second, I am not very fan fiction savvy, so I may have missed something - but I thought the whole point of fan fiction was to take the beloved universe/characters/plot (or some combination thereof) of a favourite author and use them to create something new. If I wrote what Tolkien wrote, then that would be... well, it would be what Tolkien wrote. So, yeah, my story is different and - if you like - it is 'wrong' - but I kind of thought that was the point. Maybe there was some kind of tag or warning I should have put on my story (perhaps NETSAT - 'Not Exactly The Same As Tolkien' - or similar) but, if there was, I didn't know. So, apologies if that is the case.**

**Anyway, I've had my say now. I would have PMed you, but you were logged in as a guest, so I couldn't. I hope that, if you continue to read my story, you read it with my disclaimer in mind.**

**Cheers**


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